A Year of Surprises
by teaandcharcoalforbreakfast
Summary: Nations in times of prosperity are capable of reproducing. Of course there's a problem with this: when they do go into heat it doesn't stop until they conceive. This is the story of America's first pregnancy. Mpreg, UKUS, M for smut.
1. June

**A/n:** I hadn't planned on deanoning this. However, since you've already seen All Because of Glasses, this will be taking my attention for the next few weeks, and I am a shameless attention whore, I thought I might as well post it here anyway. Hope you like it!

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><p><strong>June<strong>

England's first surprise came on the first day when he first saw his "little" colony again. He had been expecting to find the little boy that he'd left, once scarcely higher than his chin. America was still clearly a boy, but nothing like little anymore. He was even taller than England now, and although he was still gangly it was plain to see that he was already starting to fill out. It wouldn't be long until his chest and arms matched those broad shoulders. His voice didn't even crack. England wondered how long he had until everyone took him for an adult, probably not very judging by the ages at which his people tended to marry.

Once he got over his initial shock, he found himself somewhat sad. America was easily his favorite colony. Because of that he'd become somewhat of a special project to him. There was something about America that had drawn him in, made him see potential in the boy. Maybe it was that he saw something of himself in America, what he could have been if he had lived a life free from his brothers' abuse. Whatever the reason, England had wanted to be there for America through his awkward adolescent years.

"Come on, England! I did so much work to the house, you've just _gotta _see this!"

Of course, it was hard to stay melancholy when he seemed so excited about and proud of the things he had done, the ways he had grown. England felt as though he absorbed part of that energy as he allowed America to point out everything he'd done. It was all good workmanship. It seemed he may have had a real reason to be proud.

It seemed that even in his absence England had managed to raise him alright after all.

He was going to be quite attractive once he was fully grown as well. England could see it already: the hard, masculine lines of his face hidden behind the last traces of baby fat, the strength his body would have when he decided to grow out now that he was likely done with up. And then, of course, he had his soulful blue eyes, his soft golden hair, and that energetic personality.

Maybe in a decade or two, England thought, he'd be ready to take. He hoped he could be there for that too, but for less innocent reasons than the transition he'd missed. It wasn't as though America was his child. He was a nation, and although they may have referred to each other as family, they didn't possess that sort of bond. America was more England's student than his son. He took care of himself as they all did; he simply had more guidance than most.

Family was different. It was very, very different. He pressed a hand against his stomach, thinking of all the children he'd carried over the years. Not many compared to other nations, only five, but he had loved them and watched after them until they didn't need him anymore. Even now he had a Twenty-two-year-old son back in London. He was old enough to be independent, with a wife, one child of three years and another on the way. Actually, Jonathan was the reason he hadn't come back earlier and the reason he left in the first place. He fled across the sea as soon as he knew he would go into heat. He wanted to wait until he was home and then choose the most suitable "father" for his child, but unfortunately he couldn't wait the whole voyage and convinced the best man on the ship to impregnate him.

That was how it worked: there were times when nations became fertile, either because of crops or a population boom or for a multitude of other reasons no one understood, and they became pregnant. There were no exceptions. If they resisted the desire invaded their minds, driving them mad until they were no better than impoverished whores, begging anyone who produced sperm to fuck them.

It wasn't always that bad. Most of the time they had children with an ally or even just a human they'd grown fond of.

(Two of his children were Portugal's and one had been from a kind but lonely man he lived next door to when he was in Kent for a short time.)

(The other one was France's, a sort of peace treaty to end the 100 years war. He didn't love Mary any less than the others, though. There had been nothing French about her in the slightest)

"Hey, old man," America said, turning back to him and grinning, "You alive in there?"

"America, I don't bloody _care _that you're taller than me now," he snapped, startled and therefore inclined to shout, "I am your superior and you will address me as such."

He shrugged, "Other stuff wasn't getting through. I was asking if you wanted to go for a ride. I know a place not far from here that's really pretty in the afternoons."

England rolled his eyes, "Well, alright. I suppose I'll allow you to drag me out into the wilderness since I haven't seen it in so long."

"Awesome! Come on!" America grabbed his wrist and led him off to the stables.

England shook his head. He could see he had his work cut out for him if he as much as hoped to have the boy act properly again.


	2. July

**July**

America still wasn't quite used to the idea of having England around again. Maybe it was because it felt different than the other times they'd lived together. There was some sort of tension, drawing America deeper but forcing him away at the same time. Maybe he'd just forgotten about it? Twenty three years wasn't a long time for England, but that was almost a quarter of America's whole life. It made it really, really hard to tell…

All he knew was that it was fantastic and agonizing at the same time to be with England. As they sat across from each other, eating, America was consumed by both the desire to slide next to England and lean on him and to stay where he was because he was scared to get that close. All he knew was that he couldn't take his eyes off of him, watching his mouth as he brought a piece of meat to his lips, the almost harsh line of his jaw as he chewed, and the chords of his neck as he swallowed. Of course, there was good reason to be watching him. England was right across the table and they were talking. Still, he was sure he had never before noticed all those little details, like the way that his thin, long fingers carefully handled his fork and knife. He wondered why on earth he hadn't, because he had been missing out on a great show.

"Are you alright, America?" England asked standing and coming over to his side. He placed a hand on America's forehead, "You look flushed and you're just staring blankly at me."

America blushed redder more because of the touch than the embarrassment. He wanted to shove England away and pull him into his lap at the same time. He looked up to meet England's eyes. Did he want to shove him away and insist he was fine or ask what was wrong with him and why he'd started feeling so queasy?

When they made eye contact, England startled. He pulled his hand away and knelt down to be at America's level, "America, love, as soon as we finish eating you should go up to your room. Rest. Don't worry about this, you'll be alright." He lovingly brushed America's bangs. America frowned. Usually England kissed his forehead or hair. Maybe he just didn't wanna get sick?

After dinner he dutifully laid down in bed, but there was no way he could sleep. It was still light out! He looked out the window instead, watching the grass and tree branches beyond move in the wind, and traced random patters on his pillow. All he could think of was England, remembering them sitting and playing out in that field and hunting and riding in the forest.

He rolled onto his back. He wanted to go out and play with England. Since he'd come he'd always put up a fight about that, saying that America was too old for that nonsense, and he was far too distinguished to comply in the first place. America smiled; he could always get him to go with it anyway. A few days ago he'd even talked him into wrestling.

It had been a lot of fun. It felt so good to go against someone who he actually had to work to keep up with for once! True, he was stronger and had a longer reach now, but England was fast and flexible. America would grab him one second and he'd be free again the next. And he was really distracting too. Whenever America touched him he felt a shock course through his entire body.

So there was a really good reason that he lost! That must have been why he didn't mind that England had managed to shove him to the ground and pin him, or even that he gloated a little by grinning wolfishly down at him and saying "My, my, America, you've gotten much stronger than last time but you're still no match for me!"

But now why when he thought back to that day was he putting more emphasis on the way the sun shone through his even messier than usual hair, the flush of his cheeks, the almost wild look in his eyes, and why did that make his stomach tighten and roll?

It was then that his subconscious truly betrayed him. He imagined England closing those green eyes and leaning down to kiss him, not on the temple as he actually had, but on the lips. Their mouths opened and their tongues pressed together hot and wet and-

What. The fuck.

America rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head under the pillow. What the hell was he thinking? This was England he was talking about, his teacher, his friend. He was practically his father!

"_Practically," _He thought, _"But not actually." _

"Shut up!" He told himself, pressing the sides of the pillow down against his ears as though that would block out the voice in his head.

It was too late, far too late. He'd opened himself up to the torrent of images, touching England, being touched by England, fucking him, being fucked by him… Why?

He knew what sex was. His teachers had taught him the basics, how animals and humans procreated. Then Canada had passed on what he'd learned from France about men having sex with other men, and even more importantly how nations would have sex with nations they were close to when they were grown, no matter how they had felt about each other as children.

He sat up and pulled his knees close. No, that couldn't be true. After all, France had said that someday he and Canada would be attracted to each other, and that was just gross!

It… It was still gross, right?

He tried to imagine himself kissing his brother, but it still felt wrong. Well, so did kissing England, really, but that was a good-but-bad-at-the-same-time wrong and kissing Canada was just-plain-gross wrong.

He rested his cheek on one of his knees. He still had time. If France was telling the truth nations didn't touch children. It seemed pretty likely because he hadn't tried to do anything to either him or Canada and England said he'd molest anything with a pulse. America sighed and lay back down. It was okay for now. He still had years to think it over, to decide how he felt about England.

For the time being, he was safe.


	3. August

**A/N: **Now that sweethearts week is over and your inboxes are (hopefully) less flooded with valentine-y fics, I thought it was time to start posting some of the fics I've accumulated, starting with this chapter to get you all caught up to the kink meme.

I would just like to make it clear before going into this that in spite of England referring to him as a boy all the time, America is physically about 16 years old. While on that topic, warning for Ephebophilia in this chapter.

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><p><strong>August<strong>

England didn't suspect that there was anything wrong with America for a long time. It had been obvious for almost a month that he was attracted to England, but that was normal enough. After all, England could remember his own adolescence perfectly clearly, all the confused nights when he lay back with his tunic lifted, thinking about a hundred different people and unsure of how he felt about any of them. It was part of growing up and America would get past it. Hopefully not past England, but past the confusion.

No, the real person England worried about was himself. It was one thing to look at America and notice how attractive he'd grow to be. It was another thing entirely to actually _want _him as he was. It was wrong, disgusting even. England didn't know why he felt that way. He'd never had a problem with this sort of thing before. He hadn't been attracted to boys since he was one himself, since over three hundred years ago when he and Portugal had…

Well, that wasn't the issue. The issue was that he was attracted to a _child! _

He wasn't exactly a child, though, his treacherous thoughts reminded him. True, he was only about one hundred, but England guessed from his appearance that people his physical age married on a regular basis. Hell, from one point of view _he _had been younger when he first-

"Um… Hey England…"

Bloody hell, where had he come from? He forced himself to smile up at America. He looked worried, hands behind his back and looking down at his shoes. England set aside his embroidery to show that America had his attention.

"Yes, dear boy?"

"I- can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course, lad," He patted the cushion next to him.

"Thanks," America said, taking a seat.

"Now, what seems to be bothering you?"

"England… I'm scared."

England sighed, "America, I've told you a million times, there are no such things as ghosts."

"It's not about that!" He said a little too harshly, "This is serious!"

"Sorry," England said, "I'll hear you out."

"I know I shouldn't have yelled," He shifted uncomfortably, "I just… I'm worried."

England furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but it certainly sounded serious.

"I've been feeling… weird lately and I don't know what to do about it. I know it's not just puberty or anything, because I haven't changed in the past seven years."

It was most likely something normal that he simply hadn't encountered yet, but it didn't hurt to make sure "So, what do you mean by 'weird' exactly?"

"Well, it's… Um…" He turned bright red, "This is really, really awkward, but, um…"

"It's alright, love," England reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, "Whatever it is you can tell me."

America turned even redder, "I want sex. Like really, really want it. And it's just been getting worse and worse. I can barely think of anything else anymore," His voice cracked and he began speaking more quickly, "I can't concentrate, can barely do chores. Even my dreams are all me getting fucked or something that I know means the same thing. And they're so vivid, England, I would have pretty intense dreams before, but nothing like this. And the worst is when I don't dream of sex because then..." He looked away, "Then I dream about being pregnant, or giving birth, or holding a baby. And the feelings just gets worse and worse when I'm around you, so doing this is awful. I want it to stop, England," He looked back at England, tears were rolling down his face, "I don't feel like me. I want to go back to the way I was before. Please England, you told me you'd always help me, so please fix this."

England looked at him. It sounded as though he was… No, that wasn't possible. It was too early. America was only one hundred. Oh, but he had aged so quickly, and it did explain why they were both feeling like that… There was only one way to be sure.

"America," England said, making his voice as serious as possible, "I need to go into your bedroom."

"What? Why?"

"Just trust me. I think I know what's happening," He pulled him into a hug, "And if I'm right, I'm so, so sorry."

"England? England, what's wrong with me?" He looked absolutely terrified.

"It'll be alright, I promise it'll be alright."

"England, I'm scared."

"I know, I know," He pulled him closer, "But I want to be sure before I say anything."

"England, am I going to die?"

"No, America. You'll be alright. I promise that everything will be alright, but you have to trust me."

"Okay," America said meekly.

He followed England upstairs to his room, standing aside and letting England investigate. Normally he'd have to go and smell the bed or yesterday's clothes or something like that. He was almost knocked out the moment he opened the door. It probably didn't help that it was one of those hot, sticky summer days, but the air was positively saturated with the smell of a nation in heat.

"My God, how long has this been going on?"

He had asked himself more than America, but the boy still looked ashamed, staring down at the floor.

England forced a smile and said, "Don't worry. This is completely natural and you're going to be perfectly fine."

"England," America said, much more sternly than he had before, "What's wrong with me?"

England stroked his hair, one last bit of comfort before he said, "Nothing's _wrong _with you, America. It's just-" He took a deep breath, "It's time for you to have your first child."

"What?" America looked down at himself as though he expected his stomach to have ballooned without his notice, "England, I've never even had sex."

"No, America, you're not pregnant now."

"But then what do you mean? I have the choice not to have a kid, don't I?"

England swallowed, "No, America," He said, "You really don't."

"All I have to do is not have sex for-"

"America, I know it's hard to understand but that's not an option." England took his hands.

"Of course it is!" America shouted, shaking him away, "Why wouldn't it be?"

England sighed and closed his eyes, "You've never been through this before, America, so you don't know what it's like after a few months. I've tried, America, I've tried so hard... Not even you can overcome biology like that."

"But I- England, I'm not ready for a kid!"

England wrapped his arms America, who proceeded to bury his face in England's chest and be unusually still.

Christ, this was so different from when he'd learned he was going to be pregnant. That was the difference between a 100-year-old and a 900-year-old, most likely. England had had so much more time to live, to grow a mental and emotional longing so that when the physical ones came everything fell into place.

"I'm sorry," He said, stroking America's hair again, "I'm so sorry it has to be this way. But I suppose there is one good thing that comes of this timing."

America looked up, "And that is?"

"You don't have to be alone. I know how hard it is to raise a child. The least I can do is stay here until it's fully grown."

"But England, you're going to be stuck here for twenty years!"

"You're forgetting how old I am. It's a moment of my time that I have to give up to fulfill my responsibilities."

"You're talking like you know you're going to be- be the dad."

"Even if I'm not I'll stay. You're my colony, so taking care of _you _is my responsibility."

"England I- I'm still scared."

"I know, love," He placed his chin on America's shoulder, "But I promise to make it as comfortable as it can be."

"So… um…" He took a step back, "I guess we have sex now?"

England was taken aback from the sudden turn. America had just been so terrified, had said he might not want England to father his child, and now… England looked him over. He was shaking and had tears in his eyes. He was desperate, overemotional. This was probably just another way of control, to pretend that he was choosing to do something that had to happen. England couldn't let him do that. It couldn't happen like that.

"No," England said.

"What do you mean 'no'?" America asked. "I thought I didn't have a choice."

"We have a little time. You definitely have a week; you might even have two before it starts getting too bad. I want you to be in a state where you can enjoy sex, even if you can't look forward to having a child."

America just stared at him, confused and hurt. England looked back, trying to convey a million things, trying to get him to understand what he had no words to say.

"Alright… I think I'm gonna go to bed then," America finally said. He stepped into his room but didn't close the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

England smiled back reassuringly, "Good night to you, then. I'll bring you supper when the time comes."

"Right, thanks."

England kept his eyes on him, still desperately wanting him to understand, but America just shut his door.

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><p>America awoke before dawn the next morning. He rolled onto his side and looked out the window, hoping to watch the trees and grass move in the wind to try to settle the racing of his mind and the tangling of his thoughts. It looked like he was out of luck, though. It was raining sheets, making most of the landscape too dark to make out. Pretty much the only thing he could see was a fallen tree on the edge of the woods. He knew it had toppled over during the night because its insides were still bright white against the dark sky and the darker forest. It was broken now, not quite dead and rotting yet but it might as well be. You couldn't fix something like that, not when that much of it was exposed.<p>

He scowled and rolled over onto his side. He fucking hated symbolism.

He snuggled down into his blanket. God, what a day. Even if the storm would end the ground would be all muddy. He was going to be stuck inside all day with England in awkwardville.

He sat and ran a hand through his hair. The worst part was probably that he wanted it. He wanted to have sex with England. He wanted to have a family with him.

_The two of them sitting together on the sofa. England with the baby in his arms. Both of them smiling. _

But it was so scary. He couldn't imagine actually taking care of a kid. He was still practically a kid himself!

_Walking through town with England and the child, the kid tugging him around. "Daddy, we should get sweets!" "Daddy, can I have a pet?" "Daddy, will you buy me a flower?" "By God, Alfred, you spoil that child." _

And even if he would make a good dad, he'd have to have sex to do it. There was no one around that he really knew besides England. He'd just left Virginia to stay inconspicuous, and who else could he trust?

_Tracing England's spine, feeling the rise and fall of each vertebrae _

But that would change everything. He had liked being the spoiled little brother; he'd liked their relaxed relationship.

_Kissing those soft-looking lips. Did they feel like they looked? How did it feel to kiss someone in the first place? _

What would it be like to have a lover? It didn't seem like fun. Everything he'd read or heard made it seem like it was nothing but trouble.

_Smiling. Kissing. Holding. Cuddling. _

It would definitely hurt, both the sex and the pregnant part. All of it was stuffing things in places where things shouldn't be stuffed.

_Freeing England's cock, making it get big and hard. Oh, how many times he had glanced down at England's lap, wondering what he was hiding! _

He threw the blanket off and went down the hall to England's room. There wasn't time for this. Something was gonna give, and it might as well be the side that was going to break in the end. His resolve was iron all the way through opening the door to England's room, when it promptly shattered into a million tiny bits.

America walked slowly up to the bed. England was on his side, curled around a spare pillow. He was muttering something that sounded almost like German. The only things America could pick out that even might have been words were "byre," "éadlufu." Who knew what the hell that meant? Then he heard his own name and felt his heart stop for a moment.

Fuck, this was happening. It was really happening. He wasn't sure if he wanted to run away and live in the woods or jump him right then and there. He swallowed.

"Come on, America," He said to himself, "You can do this."

He reached out and lightly shook England's shoulder.

"Hey, England, wake up."

His eyes fluttered open once, twice, before he seemed to realize what was going on and sat up.

"What's wrong, America?"

"I- um…"

"Do you feel ill, love? It is usually easier to get sick when one is- Well, it won't cause any trouble if you just rested today."

"No!" America realized how loudly he said that and blushed, "It's not that."

"What, then?" England asked, stretching.

America took a deep breath, "I wanna have sex."

England froze, one arm still in the air, "Sorry?"

He blushed even redder, "I- I wanna have sex. I'm ready now."

"Are you sure?" England asked, examining his face, "This is rather fast."

"I know. But I- I-" What did he want to say? That he'd wanted England for months? That he knew he wouldn't have the balls to do this later?

England blushed "If you're sure I-I won't force you to explain yourself." He pulled back the sheet and looked away.

America awkwardly climbed into bed and crawled over England. Then he just sat there, unsure of what to do.

"Would you like some help, America?"

"Shut up!"

England sighed, "If you're going to be so pig-headed the entire time you're going to be in for some rather painful sex." He flipped them.

"Hey!"

"I-I want you to enjoy yourself." He kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, and then, finally, his lips.

America was disappointed. Kissing had always been described as so magical, the thing that broke spells and caused happily-ever-afters. Instead, it was just England's lips against his. He supposed it was alright, but it wasn't _magic. _

England pulled away, legitimate concern on his face, "What's wrong? You're not kissing back."

"I think we did it wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you hear about kissing-"

England laughed.

"What's so funny?" America demanded.

"Oh, America," He tucked a strand of hair behind America's ear, "Kissing is a metaphor."

America blushed. Again with the symbolism! At least England seemed a little less awkward. That was one of them. "For what?"

"Love. That's why it's always 'true love's kiss' and not simply a kiss. But even that's rather exaggerated. There is beauty in life and even more in love, but you must accept it for what it is, not for the ideal."

He kissed America again, slowly and sweetly. This time America pressed back. He tried to push thoughts of fairytales from his head and just focus on the moment, on England's lips on his, his hand reaching down to tangle their fingers. Lust began to boil in his stomach, making it tighten and his blood rush south. Oh this… this wasn't bad at all.

England opened his mouth and began to lick America's lips for some reason. After a few moments of confusion, he realized that England wanted to get into his mouth. He opened and allowed him in. He liked this. It was even better than normal kissing. He pressed his tongue against England's. Who knew his mouth was so sensitive? Every caress, every swipe made his cock harden a little more. He was glad they were going straight from kissing to sex. If England had kissed him and made him react like that at any other time he probably would have died of embarrassment.

"My, my, America," England teased, "Getting so aroused so quickly…"

Oh wait, maybe he'd die of embarrassment anyway.

"Don't worry, it's always like that the first time," He nuzzled America's ear.

"Hnn…" He couldn't really worry about embarrassment when England was doing that to him.

"Normally I like to draw things out, touch and play for eons, but I don't think you'll make it. I'll be back in a moment."

He slid from the bed and went to his wardrobe. America sat up to watch as he rummaged around and pulled out a small wooden box.

"What's that?" America asked.

"Slick," England replied, opening it and pulling out a vial.

America blushed. Oh hell, this was happening. Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell.

He placed the vial on the bedside table and crawled back over America. He placed his hand on America's thighs and began to drag them upwards, taking America's shift with him. It was bad enough that America hadn't been naked in front of England since he was a kid, but the way that he was staring at every new inch of skin made him feel self-conscious. Did he like it? Did he think America looked like a kid? He hadn't stopped, so he probably didn't think that America looked deformed or anything.

When his eyes finally reached America's face again he smiled, "Relax. You're perfectly lovely and it's not as though your job is difficult."

America let out a small laugh at that which turned into a moan as England rubbed his chest.

"Now, I just helped you out of your clothes. Would you like to return the favor?"

America was half way to pulling his shift up when an idea crossed his mind, "No."

"No? So does that mean you're asking me to do it?"

"Yeah," America said, making himself comfortable. When had he gotten so used to the idea of sex with England?

England smiled and straddled America's middle. He grabbed the hem of his shift and slowly began to pull it up. America understood how slowly England had gone while he was taking off his shift now. Each new inch sent lightning running down his spine heading straight towards his groin. He tried to memorize every detail: every hill and valley, every bone and scar. Seeing him like this was too much and not enough all at once.

As soon as his shift was off, England reached for his cock. America beat him to it.

"It's my job to get you hard," He said, planning on pumping him until he was standing at the ready.

"Don't stop," England said, starting to turn red, "Keep doing that while I prepare you."

"Okay," America said, focusing more on the way that England's cock was swelling than the way that he slicked three of his fingers and brought them to America's ass.

"Are you ready for one?" England asked, circling America's entrance.

America jumped. He'd tried fingering himself before, more out of curiosity than anything else. He enjoyed it, but it wasn't as intense as this. England's hand was like his, so why did it feel like so much more?

"America, I'm waiting on your answer."

"Yeah," America said breathlessly, moaning as England slid his finger inside.

He barely had the presence to keep pumping England's cock at that point. What would it feel like once he had that cock inside? It was so much bigger than the fingers, so much hotter.

There were two fingers inside of him now. He tightened around them. They were more, but still not enough. They were too short, too thin.

"More," He breathed, "I need more, England."

"A-alright," England said, sliding a third finger inside.

It still just wasn't enough. His body wasn't stretching quickly enough for him to catch up to that need. He just whined and ground down against England, hoping that that would at least help. It did _something _at least because while he was wiggling he managed to get England to brush against something that made him stiffen and arch off the bed.

"What was that?" He asked.

"What?" England asked innocently, "This?" With that he pressed his fingers against the spot again.

"Fuck! Yes, that!"

"It's what we're going to try to hit as often as possible." With one more brief swipe he pulled away. America whined at the loss and let go of England's cock, "You seem ready, America, is that right?"

"Mmm…"

He lightly stroked America's cheek, "Please answer, America."

"Yeah. Yeah, I want it."

England kissed him and pushed inside. America gasped and held him close. Oh yes, _this _was what he'd been missing. It was just as good as he'd hoped, surprisingly. Maybe it was his hormones talking, but it felt like they were made to fit each other perfectly.

"Move," He grunted.

England seemed happy to oblige, but he did so at an almost painfully slow pace. America didn't know if he was trying to draw things out or keep from hurting him or what, but he trusted him. All he was able to do on his end was clench around him and wiggle to try to get him back to the right spot. It wasn't enough. He needed more speed, more force. He was about to open his mouth to say so when England began to pick up the pace. America wasn't sure if he was a mind-reader or just good at this.

America grabbed England's shoulders and pulled him down, forcing their chests together. Both of their hearts were racing and for some reason it made him laugh. He'd never heard his own laugh so breathless, and that made him laugh more.

"Having fun there?" England asked.

His voice was so deep, so rough… America moaned for the beauty of it. "Yeah, England, Oh hell yeah." His voice was all deep too now…

England shifted his angle, rubbing against that spot with every thrust. America's grip tightened and he knew that there were going to be marks on England's shoulders. He turned his head to the side and his breaths grew more rapid. There was something coming – _probably me – _but he didn't want let go. Not yet. He didn't think England was anywhere near close. He had to hold on. He wanted to make England feel good too. But then England kissed him at the same time that he gave him a particularly hard thrust and America couldn't keep going. He threw his head back and came.

He just lay there panting, trying to recuperate from the most intense orgasm he'd ever had. England had stopped moving, but he was still hard. America couldn't do it. He hadn't been able to finish the job. He hadn't done it for England. He looked away.

"A-Are you alright for me to continue?" England asked.

"Yeah," America said, not looking back, "I'm fine."

England started again. He moved more slowly than when he had left off, but he built up speed quickly. It wasn't exactly bad, but it didn't have the same effect as before. It felt weird to have something inside of him when he wasn't getting any sexual gratification from it. It wasn't all bad, though. It felt almost comforting. Why, though, would it be comforting to be fucked?

Maybe that was one of the things that it was better just not to think about. Like why they were doing this in the first place. Like how in less than a year he would-

No, bad America.

He traced England's spine, finally getting to feel all those ridges he'd wanted to know for so long. It was better than he'd hoped to be able to touch England like that. He kissed and nuzzled England's cheek, nibbled his ear, traced his sides, nipped his shoulder, did _anything _that made him feel close.

"America, you're awfully good at this for a virgin."

America laughed, "Maybe 'cause I'm not a virgin anymore."

England's laugh just as breathless as America's had been before, and placed his head beneath America's chin, "I don't have much longer."

Unsure of what to say, America just wrapped his arms around him and held him until he came. America scrunched his nose. It felt weird, all warm and sticky, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. The only thing he knew he liked was the happy sated look on England's face when he pulled out and rolled to the side.

"Go on your stomach," England said.

"Why?" America asked, doing it anyway.

"It'll reduce the soreness among other things."

America didn't ask what other things were, since he was trying to ignore what they probably were, "So how did I do?"

"For your first time? Outstanding. You lasted longer than I expected."

"That's pretty sad."

"Everyone's like that, love. You'll get better."

America huffed and England stroked his hair, tracing down to the small of his back, "Honestly, America, you're already a better lover than some of the supposedly experienced people I've been with."

"Okay…"

They lay there for a moment, just staring at each other. England looked so happy, so confident. America was jealous. Why couldn't he be like that? Why did he feel so scared? Was England scared too and just better at hiding it?

He couldn't stand the quiet after a while, so he asked, "Hey England?"

"Yes, America?"

"What now?"

England looked thoughtful for a moment, "Well, not much is going to be different. You can sleep in here with me now, though, if you'd like."

"That- that'd be nice."

Then there was more of that damned quiet. America wasn't ready for the quiet. Not yet.

"What about today?"

"What _about _today?"

"Well, I mean, we did… this, so what comes after?"

England smiled, "America, it's not as though sex changes things that dramatically. You can do everything you did before."

"So this wasn't special?"

"I didn't say that." He touched America's face, "We can make it as special as you'd like. I just assumed you wouldn't want to make anything of it."

"I want to. Might as well make it something to remember." He looked away.

"America," England said, "Come here."

America did, scooting closer and placing his head on England's chest.

"If you'd like me to decide, we'll stay here until the sun rises. When the servants wake we can have them prepare a bath for us. In the mean time we'll sit together, maybe eat. How does that sound?"

"I like it."

"Oh good. I'm rather tired and I'm afraid that's the best I can do right now."

"So nap time?" America asked.

"Nap time." England said, finding the blanket and covering them both again.

He stroked America's hair until he fell back asleep; leaving him on his chest to be ravaged by the thoughts he'd been holding back since he awoke.


	4. September

****A/n: ****Wee~ Third update within a few hours! Sorry for spamming you all XD I just want to get this up and stop worrying about it. This is all I have for now, though, so yeah…

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><p><strong>September<strong>

It was during the fourth day that week that America found himself heaving his guts out into the spare chamber pot as soon as he awoke that he decided there was no point in denying it anymore. Feeling numb, he stood and placed his hand on his stomach, wondering dully how long he had until he'd barely be able to recognize it.

"Is something wrong, love?" England asked, propping himself up with an elbow. "Other than the obvious, I mean."

"I'm pregnant, aren't I? Like really, actually, pregnant."

England sighed. "You _have_ been, America. I told you, there's no point in fretting about it. After all, you and that child are going to be better taken care of than any other nation and child in history."

"But I-"

"No buts!" He sat up, "You trust me, don't you."

"Of course I do." He looked down, "You know that."

"Then trust me when I say- America look at me!" America looked up to meet England's eyes, already so bright before the sun had as much as peeked over the horizon. He placed his hands over his stomach reflexively, his mind focused on how he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, "Trust me when I say that everything will be alright."

"O-okay," America said, holding his eye contact long enough not to get scolded.

"Now," England smiled again, letting America feel less exposed, "I know it's a bit late, but are you coming back to bed?"

"No," America took his newfound freedom to turn away and stretch, "I'm plenty awake now. Besides, it's gonna start getting cold soon, so I wanna be outside as much as possible."

England shrugged and laid back down, "Suit yourself."

America dressed himself quickly in his work clothes, wanting to get away from the room and the disgusting smell of his own vomit as quickly as possible. He paused only to take a drink from the pitcher of water on the bedside table to try to remove the foul taste from his mouth before leaving the house.

There was already a chill in the air. It pressed against his skin in an unwanted embrace. He pulled his cloak closer to shake it off. He knew it would only be a matter of time until he was stuck indoors with a blanket wrapped around him all day every day. What great timing God had to give him two sources of misery at once! He stopped walking and took a deep breath. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.

He went into the stable and walked over to his horse. She was a beautiful palomino, and although she had once been highly athletic and energetic she'd slowed and fattened up a bit with age.

"Hey, Carrot," He said, gently petting her muzzle, "How've you been? Sorry I haven't been out here much, baby. I've had other things on my mind."

She leaned down to nuzzle his stomach, and for a moment America was struck by the ridiculous idea that somehow she knew. _"No, that's stupid." _He thought, _"She's saying 'hi.' That's how she _always _says 'hi.'" _Still, though, he couldn't quite shake the feeling. Instead he took a step back and went to feeding her and England's horse.

He watched them as they ate, feeling as though he was standing two feet further back than he actually was. Once they had finished he went to gather his gear.

"You ready to go for a ride, girl?" He asked, placing the old, faded blanket across her back. "It's not gonna be too far, just out to the cliff. Just you and me. It'll be fun."

She gently prodded his arm with her muzzle, which he took to be a yes. He finished getting her ready and led her out of the stable before climbing into the saddle. America gave her strong neck one last pat before urging her forward into the woods.

It was an easy ride down a well-worn, well-loved path. Either of them could probably find their way on a pitch-dark night, and as it was with the beginning of morning light beginning to peek through the trees America had plenty of time to look around and notice the animals beginning to stir. Some of the last robins were singing and fresh fallen leaves crunched beneath Carrot's hooves. She began to pull him lightly, asking to go faster.

"You wanna run?" He asked, smiling, "Maybe you're less burnt out than we give you credit for." She whinnied and shook her head, "Alright, then, let's do this!"

He shook the reins, gave her a light kick, and leaned down against her neck. She took off like she was a filly again. America laughed and shook his head, allowing himself to forget his problems in lieu of enjoying the wind in his hair and the feeling of having Carrot gallop beneath him. It had been a while since they ran like that together, but they remembered. He knew Carrot and Carrot knew him. When they moved they moved as one, hurtling through the trees in a direction they were both absolutely certain of.

She slowed back to a trot as they began to climb the hill. America felt much lighter and slightly breathless. They reached the crown of the hill at just the right time. The sky was flecked with reds and purples although the sun wasn't quite above the treetops. America turned his head to get the full view and took a deep breath. There was no better lookout for miles, nowhere that anyone but an eagle could see so clear for so far. He slid from Carrot's saddle and sat on the edge of the cliff. What was normally an endless sea of green appeared almost completely orange and yellow. It was hard to say if it was simply the light or if fall was really coming that quickly. Carrot followed him, stopping a safer distance away from the edge like she always did.

"Do you remember the first time we came here?" He asked, "You got us totally lost." She made a disapproving noise, "You _did! _And then I noticed this hill and I thought maybe I could figure out where we were. I didn't think we'd get a view like this!" He laughed. "God… That was fifteen years ago, wasn't it?" He stared out at the trees, feeling suddenly heavy and cold. He hopped to his feet and brushed off his behind.

"But it's been fun, right? At least most of the time, I mean. At least when it was just us and we didn't have to deal with the Jeffersons." He placed a hand lightly on her flank, "I'm sorry I had to use you like that, but you remember what it was like. It wasn't always this easy." He allowed his hand to slide down so that it was at his side again. He walked back out to the edge, training his eyes on the horizon in the hopes of the sun appearing to distract him.

"What was it like for you?" He asked softly. "What was it like to come back home and know that you weren't just you anymore? Were you happy? Sad? You didn't really seem to mind one way or the other." He swallowed, "I wish it was like that for me too. I'm scared, carrot. I'm really, really scared."

"How did you do it?" He asked, turning and walking back towards her, "It didn't bother you one bit until you were about to foal. But me, I-" He looked away, "Why am I even talking to you about this? You're a stupid horse! You probably didn't even _know!" _

She reached over and nipped his hair affectionately. America wasn't sure if she was trying to tell him she understood, or if she had just sensed that he was unhappy and was trying to cheer him up in the only way she knew how.

"It's not even like I'm worried about anything physical. England's gonna take just as good care of me as I did of you. It's just…" He took a deep breath, "I'm not ready, Carrot. I can't take care of a kid. I'm pretty much a kid myself! I'm too young. I just can't-" He turned and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her warm, earthy scent.

He couldn't help it anymore. He let himself cry, sobbing hard against her short, bristly fur. She, at least, was willing to wait for him.


	5. October

October

England had thought that the sex would stop once America accepted he was pregnant. After all, once England realized he was up the duff he tended to run away and head off to a house miles away from society to wait for the baby to come.

America was different. Even the day that he ran away with his horse he came right back and pressed himself against England in a tight embrace. He didn't blame England; he wasn't angry with him. He just seemed sort of... empty. It was rather strange from England's point of view. After all, for him usually having a child was a way not to feel so alone.

Still, he did what he could to comfort the poor lad. Thankfully, often times it was rather nice for him as well.

Like, for example, the way that America was currently making eyes at him from across the supper table. He succeeded in suppressing his grin down to a sly smirk. Such a lewd thing he'd become in such a short amount of time! Of course, England was just as bad. There had been just as many evenings when he would reach out and pet America's cheek, pulling him in for a kiss and then slowly working him up to something more.

But for the time being he had to play the game. He pretended not to notice the look on America's face, instead choosing to focus on carefully slicing a piece of meat and bringing it to his mouth. He felt America's eyes on him, even though he turned his head to look out the window. He fought the urge to look back, to see America blushing as he watched him. England could never actually understand America's fascination with watching him eat, but he didn't mind. After all, it wasn't as though he was without his fair share of kinks and this one of America's was easy to exploit.

England was just glad that the servants left them alone after providing supper. It never did anyone any good to have rumors of sodomy or incest flying about, and he'd rather not have eyewitnesses for what humans would take to be incestuous sodomy.

"England?" America asked.

"Yes, darling?" England replied, turning back to face him.

"We're not even going to make it to the sitting room tonight, are we?"

England twirled his fork in his hand as though deep in thought, "I suppose you're right. It's a shame, too. I was hoping to seduce you by reading erotic poetry aloud this time."

America visibly shivered pleasantly, "Maybe tomorrow. I need you now." He set down his knife and fork

"You're awfully eager tonight. You've scarcely touched your food."

"I'm not hungry."

"America," England said sternly, "You need to eat."

He huffed, "I don't wanna."

"America, this isn't like you." This wasn't something he wanted to play around with. He stood and walked over to America's side of the table, "Your appetite is usually insatiable as it is, and now you have a growing child to feed." America's face fell at the mention of the baby, but England kept going, "It's more important that you get your nutrients now than it ever was before."

"Can't we talk about this later?" He squirmed uncomfortably.

That was no good. He had promised to protect America and that included from his own thick-headedness. Maybe England could get him to respond well to some coaxing.

"Come now, love, it's not all that bad." England pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, letting his eyes fall half-closed, "After all, I'm sure I can make this worth your while too..."

America blushed and sputtered, "W-what are you talking about?"

England grabbed America's fork and speared a piece of potato. He turned to him, making sure to let their knees brush and held it out to him, "Go on, be a good lad and open up."

America's blush grew even more intense as he dutifully opened his mouth and leaned forward to take the morsel.

"Mmm, very nice." He pulled the fork away and America swallowed hard. He tried again, this time cutting a strip of meat before offering it.

America became more and more flustered as the rest of his food disappeared in a similar manner, his face a delightful combination of embarrassment and arousal. America's britches weren't the only ones that were rather tight by the time his plate was empty.

"There," England said, placing the knife and fork back down on the table, "That wasn't so horrible, was it?" He frowned and clicked his tongue, "But don't you see what you've done? What food of mine was left must have grown cold by now. That's no good!" He ran a finger down America's arm, "And bad boys have to go straight to bed after supper."

America's face lit up like the sky at dawn and he bounced out of his seat, "Whelp, gotta follow the rules. Let's go get my punishment started." He winked at England, making him chuckle.

England allowed himself to be led back to his bedroom. The servants had started a fire in the fireplace a while ago and it was burning happily away, giving the room a rather pleasant warmth. England took a moment to be grateful for that. After all, the evenings were starting to get rather cold and they were about to be naked. America didn't give him much time to think on that, though, because as soon as the door shut he found himself being pressed against it and kissed hard.

"My, my, America," England said as soon as they pulled apart, "you're being rather assertive tonight."

"You made me sit through all that shit at the table," he huffed, "I'm not gonna wait anymore."

"Fair Enough," England said, running a hand through America's hair, "Then you're in charge. What do you plan on doing to me?"

America grinned and picked him up. England let out a squawk, but America didn't pay him any mind as he carried him over to the bed and set him down gently.

"Well, first off. I'm gonna get you out of these clothes."

He crawled over England and began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat from the top with his teeth as his hands began working on the bottom. England just lay back and watched in awe as the very same America who was usually so docile in the bedroom tore at his clothing with the ferocity of a wounded bear. He swallowed and felt himself blushing. If this was how America acted when felt he had been denied sex for too long, England would have to start denying him on a regular basis.

His shirt quickly received the same treatment as his waistcoat. He sat for a moment in order to shuck them along with his overcoat and throw them to the ground. America didn't even give him time to lie back before he was furiously undoing his breeches. England lifted his hips and allowed America to slide them off along with his hose. However, when America reached for his shift, England took his wrists to stop him.

"That's not fair, love," He said softly, "I refuse to be bare while you're still fully dressed."

He flipped them and straddled America's thighs. He slowly undid America's waistcoat, taking the time to make him squirm and grow even more aroused. By the time his shirt was undone America was writhing on the bed and mewling in a way that was high-pitched and desperate. It was time to indulge him, to finally give him the payoff he deserved.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" He placed his hand over America's groin and gave it a small squeeze. America positively keened at the contact. "Well don't worry, I'm not any better off than you." He said, gesturing to his own prominent erection, his shift doing absolutely nothing to hide it.

"I know England, but please. Please, I need you."

"Soon, my darling," England replied, kissing him on the forehead before beginning to unfasten his breeches, "Soon."

America pouted but did no more to fuss since England was moving quickly instead of at the snail's pace of before. He removed his own shift before climbing back over America to kiss him breathless. Their tongues tangled, rubbing and caressing, and America buried his fingers in England's hair. They were both moaning softly into the kiss. England flipped them so that America was on top once more.

"Huh? Why'd you do that?" America asked.

"You said you didn't want to wait anymore," England whispered in his ear, "so I thought maybe you'd like to take control. You may steer me in whatever direction you'd like."

America just stared at him for a few moments. This was entirely new for him. They'd experimented with giving him different levels of control and they'd already tried having America top once or twice, but England had always given the direction. He had been the one to pick the position, or at least to guide America through what to do. He had never allowed the boy free reign before. Hopefully it would make it up to him for all the time he'd wasted working him into a tizzy.

"C-can I ride you?" He asked softly, "When we did that last week I really, really liked it."

England smiled and stroked his hair, "Of course, poppet. I rather enjoyed that one too."

America sat up, straddling his waist, and pulled off his shift.

Good God he was beautiful. Every inch of him was glorious, from his tousled straw-blond hair to his desperate red cock. His chest and shoulders were muscular, no doubt from working the large garden in the back and helping to care for the horses. His legs were the same way, with big strong muscles on his calves and thighs. In spite of all that, there was still a softness to him. England placed his hands on America's upper thighs, massaging them to feel the slight give of the thin layer of fat. He had a bit of a belly, too. It had nothing to do with the child, it was still far too early for that, but he had gotten bigger since he'd first lain with England. England reasoned that it was for the oncoming winter, after all everyone tended to gain weight in the autumn to provide extra warmth, but the reason was of little consequence. All that mattered was that it made his America, his precious, beautiful America, even cuter and sexier than he already was.

America reached over for the vial of slick they kept on the bedside table. He coated three of his fingers in it and reached behind to finger himself. England desperately wanted to watch, to see America easing his own fingers in and out of that sweet, tight, hole. However, there was something erotic about just watching his face too. England bit his lip, as America's face contorted in pleasure. His eyes were closed tightly but his mouth hung open, pink tongue sitting on his lower lip as he panted harshly. England couldn't help it. He began to pump his own cock in time to America's movements.

"H-hey," America said, opening his eyes and looking down at him "Don't come. I need you inside of me."

England laughed breathlessly, "I wouldn't dream of it."

They locked eyes, each watching the other pleasure himself. England licked his lips. America had almost been too much before, and now with those big blue eyes staring down at him, pupils wide and eyes dark with lust...

"Are you ready?" He asked America quickly. "I don't know if I can keep this up."

"Yeah," America breathed, pulling his hand out from behind him and wrapping it around England's cock, smearing what slick was left over it.

England threw his head back and moaned. His own hand had been bad enough, but it always felt better when America touched him and his fingers were so hot from being buried inside him...

"Hnn- England, you're so-! I-I can't wait anymore. I need you."

"Then don't wait." England grabbed his hips and lined him up over his cock.

America smiled and slowly eased his way down. England let out a long drawn-out groan. No matter how many years they stayed together, he doubted that he would ever tire of being inside of America. He was so hot and soft and it was as though God had shaped him to fit England perfectly. Once his eyelids stopped fluttering, he noticed the look on America's face. It was all scrunched up again, this time with pain mixed into the pleasure.

"Dammit..." America panted, "How do you still feel so big?"

"I'm sorry," England said, smiling, "I can't really help it." He gently rubbed circles on America's hipbone, hoping to soothe him.

After a few moments and several deep breaths, America placed his hands on England's chest.

"You ready?" He asked.

"For you?" England tightened his grip on America's hips, "Always."

America smiled and lifted himself off of England's cock only to impale himself on it again. He quickly set a brisk pace. Even laying on his back England was starting to sweat just trying to keep up. Fuck! The friction was almost too much. He hadn't used enough slick again, had he? England looked back up at America concernedly, but there was no pain on his features. His expression was pure bliss as he bounced up and down happily. England sighed and allowed himself to relax into the pillows. As long as America wasn't hurting he could lay back and enjoy their coupling.

It helped that he had a rather nice view. America's entire body was slowly turning bright red and slick with a fine layer of sweat. His softer areas jiggled with every bounce, moving at a rhythm that was just slightly different from the rest of his body.

Oh, God, how would it be in a few months when his stomach was no longer slightly pudgy but a massive, firm dome? How sexy would he be with not only his belly swollen, but his chest as well, with his nipples big and dark and practically leaking milk? How would it feel for America to have sex when he was showing? How would it feel to take someone who was showing? England had never tried either before. After all, the father had never stayed when he was pregnant and he had never stayed when he was the father. It wasn't how their kind worked, it wasn't how they operated. This was different, it was new, it was... Hell, it was almost wrong.

England didn't know how anyone had gone without doing this before. It was nice to have a dependable partner, someone who was there whenever England wanted him, someone that knew all the little things that drove him wild. And then with a child on the way-!

America, it seemed, was getting bored of doing one thing over and over, even if that one thing was sexual gratification. His hands began roaming England's chest as he fucked himself on his cock.

England shuddered. Although his touches were light and sweet his thrusts had grown even more quick and intense. It was a fantastic contrast and he was sure that America was doing it for the sole purpose of driving him wild. It didn't help that he was stroking his most sensitive areas: his sides, his upper arms, his pectoral muscles. He crooned. He was glad his colony was such a quick learner.

He almost felt guilty leaving things the way they were, though. America was doing so much to please him, but he was offering nothing in return except for his cock. He began to move with America, helping him to get deeper and changing the angle to rub against his prostate more regularly. He sat up and pulled America's top half close, tangling their tongues together. His hands roamed America's body, tracing his spine down to his arse and massaging the cheeks teasingly before spreading the cheeks and feeling where they were connected. A constant stream of moans and whimpers tumbled freely from America's mouth.

"You're fantastic," He whispered in his ear, "so good, so sexy..." He nibbled on the ridge then, making America sob with pleasure.

"Oh, England, I- I-"

"Ssh," He pulled his hand up to rub circles on America's back, "It's alright. I- I- I've got you."

"I know!" America stopped loosely holding his neck like he had before and slid his hands down to grip at his shoulders. England knew even then that the next morning he would have big red marks from his nails, "You've got me! I'm yours! Don't ever let me go!"

"Never! You're mine! Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!"

"Yes! Oh, yes! Yours, a- all yours. I- England- you-"

He lost what capability of speech he still had when England bit his shoulder. He applied as much pressure as he could and sucked hard, wanting to leave a mark. America was his, after all; he'd said so, and England wanted everyone to see it. Fuck what the people in town thought! America was- he was-

Their pace grew more frantic and England reached down to begin stroking America's cock. That was all he had the presence to do by then. He wanted them to come at the same time. It was good when they did, so good, and he was close. At America's current pace he didn't know how long it would be.

He released America's shoulder to place his head on it, barely able to remember to breathe. America let out a shout and suddenly England felt a rush of warmth against his stomach. America's nails dug deeper into his back and then he raked them down. It was the suddenness of it that allowed England's orgasm to escape, racking his body with waves of pure ecstasy. He clutched America tightly, not wanting him to fall, not wanting him to get hurt.

Once he had the presence to do so, he slowly laid back down taking America with him. He slid out and rolled over so that America's limp body was next to his instead of on top of it. For a while they just stared at each other, too winded to speak. America smiled and leaned forward to nuzzle him gently. England closed his eyes and reciprocated the gesture. They may have both been rubbish at verbal communication, but at least they had this. At least they had the light touches and the gentle affection that hopefully explained enough.

Eventually, America rolled over and pressed himself backwards against England's body. England took the blanket and covered the both of them before sinking forward into America's body.

He placed his nose in Americas hair and breathed deeply, loving the way America's natural scent was mixed with sweat and sex. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself.

He could get used to this sort of life. It was nice to go to sleep and wake up next to the same person every day, for him to always be there at England's side. He almost dared to think he felt like a normal person. After all, how different were their lives than those of hundreds if not thousands of others? It was like they were a newly married couple. England was a man already established in the world and able to provide for a family. America was his young bride (although he would kill him if he knew he had referred to him as such). The two of them lived together and worked together and slept together and, if it wasn't too much to assume, loved each other. There was even the crazy amount of passionate sex and now a child on the way.

He kissed America's neck and placed a hand on his stomach. Yes, this was his perfect little family. He felt giddy and wanted desperately to know when he would first see a sign of his baby. He couldn't wait for the days when he could look down with pride and see America's growing belly. He pressed softly against America's flesh, wishing that he could feel his firm womb even though he knew it was still too early.

What would their child be like? Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it have his face or America's? What would any of it matter when a beautiful child that was part him, part America came toddling up to him, hugged his knees and said "I love you, daddy"?

"Hey England?"

"Yes?" he said dreamily. Oh, these next few decades would be brilliant. He would get to stay and be the father that America and his baby deserved. He'd have to do his best to be worthy of that title.

"What would happen if I killed myself?"

There were so many things to think about, if they would have tutors or if he and America would teach it, what sort of clothes they would buy for it, when it would move into its own room, and, wait, what did he just say?

"What?" England asked.

"I don't mean, like, permanently!" America said, quickly, "But you know how if we're shot or stabbed or something like that we come back to life? If I did that now would that end this?"

"You're planning on killing it?" England demanded, not believing what he was hearing

America winced, "I-it sounds a lot harsher when you put it that way."

"America, a woman can't even be hanged if she's pregnant!"

"And I'm not a woman." He sat up, "England, I can't do this! I won't be ready in time. I'd be a terrible, horrible parent. It would be nicer to do this."

England shook his head, speechless.

"Just tell me, will it work or not?"

England took a deep breath, trying to get his head on straight enough to make sense. Once he was ready he sat up, "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, no one's tried it on purpose before, but nations have been killed while pregnant and when they die most of the time the baby dies too. However, it's not as though it ends everything."

"What do you mean?" America asked, furrowing his brow.

"First of all, your body rejects the dead child and it has to come out. Depending on how far along you are it can be as bad or worse as if you were birthing a real child because it can't get into position. Then within a month you go into heat again and it's even more intense than it was before. Your body won't give up until you bring a child to term."

"That's not fair!"

"I know." England brushed a hand through America's hair, "I know it isn't fair. If I could have chosen I would have waited for you to go into heat for another few hundred years, but I couldn't. Sometimes in life there are tradeoffs, and for an eternity of youth, beauty, and strength, we don't have as much free will as humans do."

"But England, I can't do it!"

"I'm sorry, but you have to."

"But I can't! I'm not ready!"

"Then you're smarter than most people. You're smarter than I was."

"What?"

England sighed, "America, there is no such thing as ready for a baby. No matter how prepared you feel you might be it will never be enough. I had my fifth child twenty years ago at the age of thirteen-hundred and I still wasn't ready when Jonathan came."

"But you were more ready than me!"

"America, would you like me to tell you about my first?"

"I don't see how that'll help."

"Just trust me."

"Fine," America huffed, lying back down.

England took his place behind him again but this time placed his hand on America's upper stomach, far away from the child. "It was 1294, long before we even knew of this new world. I was young, even younger than you are now in appearance. If you're about sixteen, I would estimate I was only about fourteen or maybe fifteen. Portugal and I were beginning to cooperate in military and political operations. He and his boss had come to my house to negotiate some informal agreement or another and I went into heat. Neither of us really knew what we were doing. We understood sex and realized we wanted it, but we were too young to know the signs, to know that in less than a year I was going to have a child.

"He left before I realized I was pregnant. I knew nations bear children. I had seen some of them obviously pregnant. I had even watched Wales grow big and round until he disappeared one night and came back a few weeks later slim again and with a child in his arms. Although he never explicitly told me he had carried and I still don't know who the father was, I would have had to be stupid not to realize what was going on. However, I thought I was too young for it to happen to me. That's why when the tiredness and the vomiting and the aches came I believed it to be something else. It wasn't until I was showing too much to confuse it with paunch that I finally realized what was going on.

"I ran away then. I didn't know what else I could do. I couldn't trust my brothers and I doubted Portugal would be able to come in time even if he believed me. I took all the food I could and stockpiled it in a cottage in the woods. For a few months I was fine. It was a bitter cold winter, but I was surrounded by dead wood that was easy to burn. I just snuggled next to the fire with what few books I stole from the library. I slept when I was tired, I ate when I was hungry, and I rather enjoyed myself.

"Then I realized the food was running out. Maybe I had forgotten to compensate for the fact I was also feeding a child, but most likely I simply hadn't realized how much a man actually eats in a day. By this time there was no way to hide my belly. I had to sneak out in the freezing cold nights and steal food and firewood, for I had also cleared out the nearby area. I stole bread and chickens from nearby farms and set up snares around my house to try to supplement that. It still wasn't enough. I wasn't as agile as I once was and I tired easily. There were many nights that I had to return home empty-handed because I didn't have a big enough opening to sneak onto someone's property.

"It's terrible to go to sleep hungry on a good day. It's even more horrible to go to sleep hungry when you're pregnant because then you know that your child is starving too, that you can't even provide it with what it needs to live. It's the worst feeling in the world. After a while I was too sick to walk more than a few paces. The animals learned of my snares so it was rare to catch anything. After that I didn't even have the energy to make it out to the well. All I consumed for weeks was leather boiled in melted snow."

He paused. No matter how much time he put between the present and then it was still unpleasant to think about. He couldn't bear all those nights he'd spent curled up in a haphazard nest of straw and linens feeling like a failure but knowing that crying would waste precious energy and wishing he could sleep and at least save what he could.

America shifted uncomfortably in his arms. "W-what happened?"

England closed his eyes and placed his face in America's hair, "My labor was long and painful. I didn't have the energy to stand or even sit, so I had to give birth lying down. I cried when I felt her coming, partially from the pain and partially because I was sure I had miscarried. I didn't bother getting her until she started screaming and I realized she was alive.

"I cleaned her and held her close. I was surprised that she was able to get milk from me, but she drank her fill and went to sleep. Right then and there I decided that whatever I did I was not going to let her die.

"Somehow we made it. I was so hungry that I ate the afterbirth like an animal, but it helped me recover enough that I could make it to town. I was scared to leave her alone, but I knew that was the only way we could survive. Thankfully, I had taken a large sum of money with me when I went into hiding. I went into town and bought as much food as I could carry. I remember that I couldn't even wait until I got home. I ate a whole loaf of bread on the road. It was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted."

"Did she survive?" America asked in a small voice.

England smiled, "Yes. Audrey actually probably grew to be the strongest of all my children. She had a fiery spirit, that one. Once she was old enough we actually hid her gender and she and I joined the army to fight Scotland. She had this long affair with a captain, actually. They got married when he first got her pregnant, but she basically had her baby and went right back to fighting. I remember the general told me that in spite of lying about her gender and the insubordination, she was too good of a shot with the longbow to give up." He laughed, "She was a fantastic woman. I miss her so much sometimes." He nuzzled America, "But do you realize why I told you this?"

"To make me feel like a whiny little ass?" America asked.

"No. Not at all." He gently stroked America's side, "I would never mock you. I wasn't ready physically and you're not ready mentally, but I made it through and so can you. I can relate to you at least on some level. And whenever you worry if it's worth it," He lifted his head and nuzzled America, "I can at least try to tell you how it feels when your child says its first words, or takes its first steps, or even just looks at you and smiles.

"Babies are stressful things, and I would have to be stupid to say otherwise especially after how many I've dealt with. But they're worth it. Oh God, America, are they worth it. When that baby is born, you're their entire world. You're their warmth, their food, their comfort, their shelter, their playmate, their everything. To have something that loves you so unconditionally, so unequivocally, it defies language." He kissed him on the temple, "But you'll know. Soon you'll understand what it's like."

America was silent for a minute, and then he said, "I'm still scared."

"I know, love." England stroked his hair, "And it's alright to be scared. But trust me when I say that I'll be here. I'll always be here."

He rolled over and buried his face in England's chest. "Thanks," He said, even though his voice was slightly muffled.

England stroked his hair and smiled, happy that he had been able to help on some level at least.


	6. November

**A/n: **Sorry this took so long! I had very little time to sit down and write and in what time I did have this didn't wanna come out :/ I think it's because of the time period. They both seem so OOC when I'm writing them in this time period, just because the normal tsundere aspect has just started developing at best.

* * *

><p><strong>November<strong>

England fired the servants. It wasn't like they were doing a bad job or anything, but really their main purpose had been to keep America company and England did that well enough on his own. Besides, America was happy for the work. He had missed getting his hands dirty and actually doing things. Sitting around all day was so _boring. _

(They'd also both realized it was better to get rid of them now when America was still thin rather than have too many people see him once he started showing. Even though they would probably never suspect a _man _to be pregnant, they might begin to have thoughts of witchcraft if he got bigger and bigger and bigger until one day he was skinny again and had a baby with him. America had had more than enough problems with those sort of accusations. He didn't wanna play that game again.)

The other nice thing was getting to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He'd been so tired lately, like he'd been doing heavy labor when all he'd actually done was go around the house and dust, so it was nice to be able to go upstairs and nap whenever he felt the urge.

Some days, though, he simply wasn't tired. It seemed his body sometimes understood that he was still mostly wandering around the house doing nothing. Hell, the most physically intense thing he did these days was sleep with England (and oh, how nice it was to do that wherever he wanted! The servants had scarcely been gone for two weeks by the time they'd done it in every room of the house). He missed working the land, though. He would have liked to get out and plow soil or something but it was the wrong time of year. The first snow had fallen and even if he did get through it the dirt would probably be rock-solid beneath. But, of course, that meant at the moment he was bored and had nothing to do. Maybe he'd go find England.

He began to poke around the first floor. He obviously wasn't in the sitting room, since that was where America had been, but the kitchen, dining room, and front salon had all gotten similar results. He went upstairs and found him, to his surprise, curled up in bed.

America took a moment to engrain the image in his memory. The curtains were open and so the mid-afternoon light fell across England's face, making him seem to glow. His body was relaxed in a way it could never quite reach when he was conscious. He was curled around a pillow and with a jolt America recognized it as his own.

Suddenly everything felt a little less happy and cute. He noticed the way that England had his nose buried in the pillow, most likely trying desperately to take in what of America's scent stuck to it.

He walked over to the bed and pulled his pillow away. For a moment England frowned and reached out for what he had lost, but he was pacified when America slipped beneath the covers next to him. He smiled even wider than he had before as he pulled America flush against his chest.

How long had it been since either of them had slept alone? Had they been separate since the first time? Hell, that was only three months ago, wasn't it? Three months and America couldn't even imagine lying back in his own room all alone.

Well, he told himself as he closed his eyes and snuggled against England, there was no point in worrying about it now. He still had twenty years until-

Oh hell, twenty years. They weren't humans where that was almost half a lifetime. America might have to go on forever with nothing but an empty bed and memories. He felt tears pricking at his eyes. He didn't want England to leave, he didn't want to be alone again. If only there was some way to keep him longer, like if somehow when the first baby was fully grown he could force himself into heat and have another. He swallowed. He wouldn't even be able to do it once, much less for centuries on end. But damn, wouldn't it be nice? As soon as one kid could live on its own he'd just pop out another and keep England forever.

But that wasn't fair, was it? He pulled away to look at England's sleeping face. This wasn't his home. He didn't belong here, not really. Maybe to visit, but America knew from experience how hard it was to leave your land for an extended period of time. He had been so homesick when England had taken him to meet the king, how could England stay on the wrong side of the Atlantic for so long? It was selfish to keep him, but nations were meant to be selfish. England had told him time and time again that a nation must first do what most benefits their people and themselves and only once they're taken care of should they worry about others. So it should have been perfectly fine to keep England around for as long as possible, right?

Except… it wasn't like England was the only one who would be taken advantage of. America pressed his hand against his stomach, allowing himself to feel for the first time. If he pushed gently he could feel his womb, already round and firm even if there wasn't any difference in his appearance. All this time he'd been thinking of the baby as nothing but a burden, a mere thing that was going to hold him back and force him to do a whole bunch of things he didn't want to do. Until now he hadn't thought of it as a person. Was it even fair to call it a person when it was so little? Even if it wasn't one now, it would end up as one, wouldn't it?

God, he'd been thinking of just using it as an anchor for England and swapping it out for another when it had outlived its usefulness. By the time it was twenty it would have its own dreams and aspirations and maybe even a family of its own. The thought was mind-boggling to America. He was carrying a person, a real person- and he'd wanted to kill it!

He began sobbing openly into England's shift. All the things he might have lost to his own damn selfishness! He pictured his little baby, all soft and pudgy with big blue eyes and stubby fingers and toes and-

"A-America?" England asked, "What's wrong?"

"I almost killed the baby!"

"Ssh, no you didn't, love, hush, the baby's fine."

"But I _almost _did, England! I hated it! I wanted it to die!"

"Oh, America," England said softly, holding him close, "There, there. It's alright. Your emotions are all in a tizzy right now. It'll be fine, just try to calm down."

"You're saying I've overreacting! I'm not overreacting! I almost _killed the baby!" _

"You didn't almost kill the baby," England said softly, running his fingers through America's hair. "Unless at some point you held a gun to your stomach and then threw it away you were nowhere near harming it. Did you want a way out? Yes. Did you think it was too soon? Yes, but you wouldn't have hurt it, even if that would have ended everything."

"You don't know that. I hated it, England. I hated it!"

"I know, love, I know. You already said that. But please let me finish."

"Fine," America huffed.

"You didn't want to take a life, America. I know you wouldn't do that, especially to your own child. Once you realized what it is this really promises," He placed his hand on America's stomach to make it clear what exactly he was talking about, "You'd react this same way."

"But what if I didn't think of that?"

"As soon as I realized you were actually thinking about it I would have made you think of it. Besides, what could have been doesn't matter. All that matters is everything's alright. You're here safe and sound and nothing's going to hurt you, alright?"

America sniffled, "Alright."

England rubbed soothing circles on his cheek. Suddenly, he looked out the window, "Oh, bollocks! What time is it?"

"Not so late that we can't stay a little longer." America said, taking England's hand, "I mean I just got here."

England smiled, "Well, I suppose I can stay a tad longer for you."

"Thanks," America said, turning around so that England could pull him even closer.

England's hands settled on top of America's lower belly and America set his hands on top of England's.

"Hey," He said quietly after a moment.

"Yes?"

"I-I just wanted to say that I don't hate the baby now."

He felt England smile against his neck, "I'm glad."


	7. December

**December**

They lay together out in the tall grass of the meadow, both of them flat on their backs. England looked up at the deep blue sky, its color only occasionally interrupted when a wispy cloud floated by far, far above their heads. He hummed contentedly, feeling the warmth of the sun lap at him like waves on the beach of a lake. The wind blew softly, just enough to cool the summer air and make the grass tickle his bare arms and neck. He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of summer, and turned to look at his partner.

America was beside him, right were he belonged. He was spread-eagled and taking up as much room as possible, as he was wont to do. England propped himself up on his elbow to more easily appreciate America. The boy deserved the stares. He was so beautiful like this, hair yellower than ripe wheat, that skin yet untouched by battle that went on as far as his vast land. Oh, England hoped that for a thousand years poets would cross America's land and write of what they saw in their best words so that the people back in Europe could have the slightest inkling of the beauty that lay next to him now.

It was then that America opened his eyes and looked back at him. Damn, there was no comparing even the sky to those deep blue eyes. No sapphires in any king's crown, no ocean no matter the day could match the depth and color that was staring straight back and him and making America's gorgeous smile all the brighter.

"America," England said, "I lo-"

"Hey, wake up." America said, frowning.

And England did. He opened his eyes and found himself in bed, looking at an America not beside him looking pleased, but bent over him looking slightly annoyed. He held his breeches in one hand and the other was placed upon his hip.

England huffed and sat up, "Why did you wake me? I was having the loveliest dream, you know."

America grinned just to annoy England, "You sleep too much anyway. It can't be good for you."

"You're the one who goes to bed nearly at sunset, even though it's at, what, four in the afternoon now?"

He blushed, "Hey, I'm pregnant. Cut me some slack. Speaking of which," He held the breeches out to England, "You forgot to take these out when you did the others. When I tried to put them on they didn't close."

England sighed and reluctantly got out of bed, going for his own clothes, "Can't you just wear some of your other ones?"

"Come on, it's Christmas! I wanna look good! Well-" He looked down at his stomach, "As good as possible."

England rolled his eyes and began dressing himself, "Come now, America, you're scarcely showing. Once you have more than just your shirt on no one will be able to tell. I've seen you measuring it and even_ I_ can't tell when you're fully dressed."

"You mean it?"

"I do."

America smiled, "That's good. I mean… I don't want people to think I'm fat."

"Even if they do, I know better. And I'm the one who warms your bed, remember?"

"I-I do," America said with a blush. He turned around and left the room, "I'm gonna make breakfast. Come down when you're done!"

England smiled to himself and went to sit down at his desk with his needle and thread, beginning the process of loosening America's waistband. He'd have to make new clothes for him soon enough. He wrinkled his nose. America wouldn't even appreciate it, probably. When he saw how big they'd have to start he'd throw a fit, even though England would take both the top and bottom in by a mile. The boy simply didn't understand the cost of cloth, not to mention how conspicuous it would be to keep having to go back and buy more. England sighed. And how would he even estimate how big America would be when he came to term? He knew how massive he himself grew to be, but America was built very differently. It would probably be better to overestimate and deal with America's whining than have to make a new set or let him wander around naked. Although, really, he was due in late May so maybe it would be alright to do that…

Oh, how he longed for the days when a long tunic and hose made an acceptable outfit. It made the whole child-bearing business a lot easier. Hell, even though it was centuries out of fashion, England would switch to them once he went into hiding. He had the feeling that America would throw a fit, though, saying that England was trying to humiliate him by making him dress like a girl. What a little brat pregnancy had turned America into! Although, hadn't he been prone to tantrums all along?

"_God," _He thought, _"Why couldn't Canada have gone into heat instead?" _

He shook his head and went back to work. There was no point in lamenting over that now. He made his bed and he would have to sleep in it now. He'd promised America and he would do his duty as a man and as an Empire and fulfill that promise.

He tried to pretend that his dream meant nothing and his word was all that held him.

* * *

><p>By the time the church service had ended America was practically bouncing in their pew. England couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was almost inspired by the boy. He still actually paid attention. It probably didn't help that England had been through enough services when he had been infatuated with religion that he could probably rattle off the readings for every day of the year in perfect Latin. Of course, they were all English now, but that made it no more interesting. He didn't even have the lovely lilt of Latin to listen to, instead having to dwell on the harder to tune out sounds of his own tongue.<p>

America, on the other hand, was so attentive, so drawn in with his people. England wasn't sure if it was a virtue or a vice, really, but it would no doubt work itself out in time. Of course, now that the time for prayer was over, there was only one thing on America's mind.

"Oh man, the festivals up here are so awesome! I guess people get better at partying when it's really cold, probably because they're really happy winter's going to end soon. But anyway I saw Mrs. Brown cooking all these little cakes the other day and I hope she's sharing them, and I heard the musicians practicing the other day and they're really, really good, and we're all gonna get together and dance later, and I might even have a partner because Lucy Cooper kept looking over during communion, and-"

England tuned him out, knowing he would just keep blathering on, and watched the other people slowly filing out of the church and into the village square. All he really wanted was some hot buttered rum to get rid of the chill that always leaked into churches this time of year and then to maybe see if any of the craftspeople were selling any little baubles he liked. His brothers and America might have taunted him for it, but he did appreciate finely made decorations. They were beautiful and far too easy to overlook in a world of war and hunger and strife. Besides, if he was going to be living in that house for the next twenty years he would like his curio cabinet to look a little less desolate.

After having a few drinks and a rather pleasant conversation with a nice woman who had just come off the boat from Dover, thereby fulfilling his first wish, he began to wander through the rows of booths set up by shopkeepers to fulfill the second. He pulled his cloak close and shivered. When had it gotten so late? Maybe he'd talked to that woman for too long. Then again, who could say what time it was, other than night? It didn't feel too late and everyone he passed still had eyes unglazed with tiredness, but everyone was like that until the wee hours of the morning during festivals.

He looked at countless trinkets but none of them truly spoke to him. He bought a pewter butterfly along with a dragon made of blown glass and an elegantly decorated little cup, but those were just for looks because he needed something to fill the shelves of his cabinet. The ones at home were full of things full of sentimental value, treasures that he'd gathered over the centuries one piece at a time. Who was he kidding, thinking that he'd be able to replace them all in a little village in such an insignificant colony as Vermont? He doubted he could find anything he wanted in all of Boston, much less in this little no-name town.

Just as he was about to give up and see if America wanted to get some dinner and then go home, a small booth right on the edge of the square caught his eye. There was nothing too fancy about it. They were just selling simple wood carvings: some cups and bowls with a few sculptures of native animals, but the quality was beyond anything he'd seen in even London. And then there was that small thing sitting off to the left...

"Sir," He asked the man behind the counter as he picked it up, "What is this?"

The man, a young thing that scarcely looked older than America, smiled and said, "I don't really know."

"What do you mean?" England asked furrowing his eyebrows.

"Well, I make the simple stuff like these," He said, gesturing to the mugs and bowls, "It's my dad who made that and the other sculptures."

"But surely he must have said what it is!"

"What do _you _think it is?"

England looked at it. It was a spindly sort of thing, really. It looked like a pack of comets rising from the base, twisting and intertwining. In apparently random places small pieces of blue glass held on by small rings dangled from it, the only break in the otherwise solid piece of wood.

"I haven't the slightest," He said honestly.

The man laughed, "I didn't either. Then I found out what he calls it: the Hand of God."

England snorted and turned the piece to all different angles, "It looks nothing like a hand."

"That's what I said. But look," He gently took England's wrist, stopping his movement, "See the grain of the wood? How it bends and moves with each little finger? That's what he meant. He found this piece of wood in the middle of an old knot. He carved it out to fit the path, and then he got this."

England stared down at it. "It has no pattern, though, no face. I like the crystals, but what does it have to do with God?"

"Because God made it this way. Dad just cut out what He grew."

England traced one of the branches. It was twisted, almost ugly. But maybe it was just wild, just nature's way. The light caught one of the pieces of glass just right and it shone a blue the sky couldn't even compare to. He swallowed.

"I'll take it."

"Wha- Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes," England said, smiling. "I'm sure."

He paid the man and went off towards the side where the dancing was taking place. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to show it to America. The boy would probably love it simply because of how unorthodox it was. He couldn't help but smile widely for some reason. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and he was walking more quickly than could possibly be dignified, but he found he couldn't have cared less at the moment.

However, as soon as he caught sight of America he stopped dead. He was dancing, just as he had said, and it was with that Cooper girl, just as he had said. England clutched his new treasure in his hand. Yes, America may have warned him, but who did that little bitch think she was? Oh, if he could get his hands on her-

No, he told himself, no, you're being stupid. It's just a bit of dancing, it's all in good fun. Besides, what right do you have to be reacting like this? You may have fathered his child, but that means nothing for your kind. You've been sleeping with him, but you've been in every European nation's bed at one point or another. That's all this ever was, really. You're taking care of him and the sex is just a benefit. It's not romantic. It never has been, you fool.

He couldn't keep from watching. America was smiling so broadly, his face lighter than England had seen it in weeks. But why was-

"Arthur, dearie! How nice to see you!"

He turned to see kindly old Mrs. Brown coming towards him. "Ah- hello."

"Tired from dancing?" She asked.

"I-I'm not much of a dancer, truly. I'm happy just to watch my- my brother."

"Are you sure? You don't look happy watching."

England said nothing, he just kept his eyes straight ahead, looking everywhere except for at America and his partner.

"He's been doing so much better since you've come." She said, making it clear she was still watching America.

"Is that so?" England asked distractedly.

"Yes. He was always such a lonely boy before. I think he missed you while you were away at college."

"Well, I have been more or less in charge of him since his father passed and mummy was such a wreck then too." He slipped into the lies like a second skin. He had been a lonely, lying old man for far too long.

"How is your mother by the way?"

"She's fine. She wrote me the other day saying that she really loves her new husband and she hopes this marriage won't end like her other two."

"Don't sound so glum! It sounds as though she's happy and from the looks of things there may be some changes in the next year."

England turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Brown sighed happily, "Just look at them. You know, some of us have been saying for weeks now that Alfred and Lucy would make a fine match. Both of them are so sweet."

"I'm sure," England said coldly.

"Oh, Arthur dearie," She placed a consoling hand on his shoulder, "Don't think of it as losing a brother, but gaining a sister. Besides, you must have done a fine job raising him for him to turn out like this. He's kind, he's gentle, he's creative, and he's quite handsome, especially now that he's grown into himself."

Something about the last statement caught England's attention enough to utterly shift his focus, "What do you mean, 'grown into himself?'"

"Well just look at him: anyone can see he's clearly gained weight since you moved back. It's a good thing too, if not a bit surprising. After all, so many of you Europeans are obsessed with skinny waists! It's nice to see you're putting some meat on Alfred's bones. See how it's done the rest of him good? He almost seems to glow these days."

"I'm sure he does," Arthur slapped a smile across his face mask his concern. It finally happened: someone had noticed. She didn't suspect anything, it would be alright. It just meant that Alfred would have to "fall ill" sooner than expected.

They made idle chat for a while more until Mrs. Brown decided that it was time to find her husband and son and take them home. England went back and gulped down another drink so that he'd be able to tell America he wouldn't see the town for the next five months.

However, it turned out that the main problem with telling America was that he simply wouldn't shut up from the second they got out of earshot of the town.

"Oh man, England, Lucy's such a great dancer! She's the only girl I've ever met who can actually keep up with me. She's so cute when she giggles too, almost like a little kid, and she doesn't even care that I don't know what I'm doing!"

"I'm sure."

"Hey, if you want we can dance when we get home. I'll hum a little something. It'll probably be off-key, but it'll work."

"I'm not interested."

"You sure? You seem kinda-"

"Mrs. Brown noticed," He said to change the subject.

"Noticed what? If you mean that dumb rumor, you oughta know I never slept with her in the barn. Or in her dad's bed. Or anywhere else."

"No, not- Wait, what?"

He smiled, "There are all sorts of stories going around. There always have been. She wants to be a nun, but her dad doesn't like that, so we're pretending to be courting. The next time I move I'm gonna take her with me and drop her off at a covenant."

"Oh…" England said quietly. As in "Oh, you just made me look like a petty, jealous arse."

"Yeah. Sorry I forgot to say earlier, but, you know, baby and all that."

"Right. Of course."

"So wait, if it's not about me and Lucy supposedly banging, what did Mrs. Brown notice?"

"She said you've gained weight since I've come. And she said you're glowing too."

America blushed, "Well- that is- Dammit, England! Don't let your sewing circle friends say rude stuff like that!"

"Look you moron." He grabbed the reins from America's hands and stopped both of their horses, "It's not that she called you fat. Besides, she meant it as a compliment. The point is that even if no one knows it's from a baby yet, you're starting to show."

"I thought you said no one would notice!" America said accusingly.

England sighed, "We must have not noticed because it was gradual, but you are. We're going to have to start hiding you soon."

"But I- I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye."

"It's better that way. If you said your farewells before getting sick, people might suspect something."

"Can't I see it one last time?"

"Yes. On New Year's Eve we'll come back. You can mention to a few people that you've been feeling a bit under the weather and make what peace with it you can." He gently touched America's hand, "Don't worry, love. It's not forever. Once you feel well enough after the baby comes you can go back into town. You can even show it to your friends once it's a few months old. Remember, we're adopting our baby brother or sister once mummy dies in childbirth, and as sad as it may be to lose a parent at such and age we still want him to have a full life."

America smiled and reached over to hug him. "I guess that's why old ladies don't have kids."

"Exactly why," England said, pulling away, "And also why you don't marry crazy men who commit suicide after their wife dies."

"Of course." His smile wasn't as bright and free as it had been in the square, but at least it was something. At least it was for England this time.


	8. January

**January **

America paced back and forth across England's bedroom, one hand placed protectively over his belly. He stopped to look out the window for the twentieth time in half as many minutes, eyes fixed on the road to town. England wouldn't be coming back down that road for nearly a week, but it wasn't him America was worried about at the time. No, he was waiting for someone else entirely.

Finally, he saw her rounding the bend on her father's white horse. He was glad she'd brought her; Carrot would finally have some company out in the stables. Although it would still be a few minutes until she actually reached the house, America ran downstairs and stood eagerly behind the door. It would be so nice to see someone other than England again, especially her. He'd missed her so bad while he'd been cooped up inside.

After what felt like an eternity, she knocked on the door. America wanted to throw it right open and hug her until she couldn't breathe. He knew he would have to take it slowly, though. He didn't want to scare her too much.

"Hi, Lucy," He said, opening the door just a crack.

She was biting her knuckle through her leather gloves and staring at him concernedly, "You've been sick in bed for a month and now I get a letter that just says to come over as soon as Arthur left town. What's wrong, Alfred? You don't even _look _sick."

"You're right," He said, smiling a little for her, "I'm not sick."

"Then why haven't I heard from you since December?"

He bit his lip, "This'll be easier if you don't think of me as Alfred for a little bit. I'm America right now, okay?"

"Alright," She said slowly.

"Okay, good. Now remember how I told you nations do some things differently?" She nodded, "Well, this is one of those things." He opened the door.

She wrinkled her brow, "I don't understand."

"You will. Come in." He led her to the salon and had her sit on the couch. He took her hands in his in case she panicked and ran.

"Alfred, please, _what is going on?" _

He took a deep breath, "Lucy, I- I'm pregnant."

She didn't run. She just stared at him blankly, "You're… what?"

"I'm pregnant. That's why I've gained all this weight," He said, gesturing to his swollen belly.

"But you're a man."

"I know. Hey, if you don't believe me now she'll probably start kicking again soon."

"So then how…?"

"No one really knows," He said, placing his hand back on his stomach, "Sometimes nations just go into heat and it doesn't stop until we have a kid."

"So who's the- the father?"

"England," He said, smiling at the thought of his lover.

"Your _brother?" _

"H-he's not really my brother." America said quickly, "We just say that because it makes more sense to humans."

She sat still for a moment, clearly thinking the situation over. Her eyes raked all over America's body, from his hands to his stomach to his face. He just tried to be still and let her read what she needed to.

"Well," She said finally, "God made all kinds of creatures differently. If He made men who live forever, I suppose He could have them carry children too."

America smiled, glad beyond words that she understood.

"Will you stay with me?" He asked, "I mean, I like England and all, but I get tired of only being around him sometimes."

"I'll visit you when I can," she said, "I have to help around the house, you know. I mean, except for my mother I'm the only woman in the family."

"Good. Just- just don't tell England."

"Why not?"

"I don't think he trusts you. He's been a little overprotective of me lately. I don't want him to get mad at you."

"Is he alright? I mean, he's not mistreating you, is he?"

"What? No." America sat back, getting a bit more comfortable, "He's being absolutely fantastic. He's sweet and gentle and he takes really good care of me. It's just-"

"Just what?" She probed, leaning towards him.

"He treats me like such a kid sometimes. Sometimes I don't think he realizes I'm actually an adult, even with all this. Hell, there are plenty of times that it feels like he's just going with the 'give America whatever he wants' ideas when he takes me upstairs and-"

Lucy cleared her throat loudly. America blushed and looked away.

"Sorry," he muttered.

There was a moment of tense silence before Lucy spoke up again, "So how… how far along are you?"

"It was five months on Tuesday."

"You know the exact date?"

America chuckled, "Trust me, I'm pretty sure what day it happened. Anyway, it was kind of neat because that was when she first started kicking."

"How do you know it'll be a she?"

"Well, I've been craving sweet things and Arthur say's I'm carrying higher than he usually does, and from what I've heard that means it's a girl, right?"

Lucy laughed, "My mother was told I was another boy. That's not foolproof."

"She feels like a girl, though."

"What are you going to call her?"

"I'm not sure, yet. England and I were waiting to see what she was like to give her a name. I wanted Erin because it's a nice name, but he said he'd rather die than name his daughter after his sister. Right now we're thinking of Adrianna." As soon as he said the name, the baby delivered a harsh kick to his insides, "God! Do you like that or hate it?" He spared a glance at Lucy and found her staring at his belly. "You want to feel, don't you?"

She turned bright red. "I- that won't be necessary."

"It's alright. You know you can't lie to me. You're one of my babies too, you know."

"I know," She murmured, "it's still embarrassing."

He pulled his shirt out of his breeches, "Come on, don't worry about it. When are you gonna have the chance after you go to the convent?"

She smiled and reached out, "I suppose so."

Her hand felt weird. Only he and England had felt his bump before (well, them and Carrot, but her nuzzling didn't really count) and her hands were so different, smaller and pleasantly warm instead of ice cold or burning hot with nothing in between. Her touches were light and unsure, not at all like the comforting or possessive ones that he and England both used. He wasn't sure if it was Lucy or the cold air that sent the shiver down his spine, but as soon as that happened she pulled away.

"I'm still me, you know," He said, pulling his shirt down, "You don't have to be worried."

"I'm not."

America just smiled at her, knowing it wasn't true, "Come on, then, let's get something in you to warm you up and you can tell me what I've really missed in the last month."


	9. February

**February **

In some ways, the long winter nights were the best times. England sat in his favorite armchair, working on knitting a blanket for the baby. America lay on the ground next to the fire with some new book England had bought for him when he was last in town.

"You do realize your back is going to hurt once you get up. If you can get up."

"Nah," America said, stretching briefly before returning to his curled up position. "I'm comfy like this."

England rolled his eyes, "Suit yourself."

He looked back down at the little blanket and sighed. He still had a long, long way to go and it was starting to get late.

He was about to yawn when America rolled onto his back and said, "Gettin' tired, England?"

For a moment England lost his tongue. He looked so beautiful like that, flat on his back with his stomach sticking out and that happy expression on his face. England didn't know what to say or do, so he relied on his first instinct.

"How would you know? You haven't even been looking!"

America laughed lightly, "Nope, but we've been stuck together for so long even I'm starting to pick up on this stuff." He traced patterns absentmindedly on his belly, "It's not like I have much else to do."

England pursed his lips. America was such a free spirit, it must have been hard for him to be kept inside, separated from his people. It would have been better if he could have gone outside, but the snow and cold kept that from being an option too. "We'll think of something," England finally said, "If nothing else, we're nearing the end of winter. The snow should start melting in a month."

"Yeah, but that's _so long." _

England set down his little blanket and tried not to smile. America didn't know how lucky he was. At least he had England to talk to.

"Well, do you have any ideas?"

"Actually," America said, sitting up, "I've been thinking about-" But then he suddenly stopped.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Um, could we sleep down here tonight?"

"That's all?"

America looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, "Well, it's a start."

"Where do you mean to sleep, though? The sofa is only big enough for one of us."

"When I said here, I meant here," He said, patting the rug he had been laying on.

"On the _floor?" _

"Why not?"

"We're both going to be dreadfully sore tomorrow."

"So? Sore's better than bored, and you can bring down all the pillows and cushions."

England sighed and stood. "I'm going to regret this."

America smiled triumphantly, "Bring the sheets too!"

England just rolled his eyes and went off to strip the bed.

By the time he came back down, America had already taken everything soft he could from every piece of furniture on the first floor. He lay spread-eagle in the middle of a pile of cushions he'd amassed in front of the fire, clearly comfortable.

"Proud of that, are you?" England asked

"Mmm-hmm," America hummed without opening his eyes.

"Well, budge up. I have to put the sheets on."

"Oh _fine," _America said, standing and getting out of the way.

England busied himself tucking the corners of the sheets under the pillows on the perimeter to try to keep their sham of a bed together. He felt America's eyes on him and started to feel warm. He shook his head. America had seen him a million times in a million more compromising positions. Why was he suddenly feeling embarrassed? He looked up to meet America's eyes. The look he was giving England was almost predatory and that combined with the way America was currently towering over him made him slightly uneasy. He wasn't used to being beneath America. He left the rest of the blankets to the side and just stared.

America got down on his hands and knees so that he was on England's level. England suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. "You look so cute crawling around like that," He said, nuzzling him.

"I'm not cute." England huffed.

"Of course you are." He kissed him, "But I don't have to say it if you don't want me to."

England huffed, but kissed him again anyway.

"You're beautiful like this, you know," America said, brushing a strand of England's hair behind his ear, "Rolling around on the floor in front of a low fire."

"I am _not _rolling!"

"Well, we can fix that." In spite of the size of his pregnancy, America pounced on England and forced him down onto the cushions.

"Why you-!" England grabbed his shoulders and pushed him off.

With a laugh, America sprung again, shoving him over once more. England retaliated again. He wanted to be angry with America. This was no way to be acting, especially in his current state. What if England accidentally kicked him in the stomach? What if the exertion forced him into incredibly premature labor? But as the game wore on and America showed no sign of any pain that smile and laugh began to win England over. He was quite thoroughly enjoying himself by the time he managed to pin America properly.

"I still can't beat you, can I?" America asked breathlessly.

"You still have a lot to learn, boy." England said triumphantly.

"Well, since you won you get the prize."

"Prize?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," America closed his eyes and leaned up to kiss him.

"That's all I get?" England asked when they pulled apart, "One little kiss?"

"Nah. You also get to stay up there as long as you want." He lifted one knee to nudge England's groin, "If you know what I mean."

England flushed bright red but tried to cover it with a smirk. "I would love that, darling."

America rolled his shoulders, "Come get me, then."

England quickly began to work on undoing America's waistcoat. "I'm going to have to take this out again," He muttered as he worked the strained buttons over America's belly.

"Yeah, our little girl's getting nice and big, isn't she?"

"Still sure it'll be a girl?" England asked, kissing America's stomach.

"Hey, I'm the one whose insides are getting pulverized on a daily basis."

England chuckled, "Of course, dear."

After that he began to slow, reverently undoing every button on America's shirt and trousers. He was so lovely now, big and heavy with child and still so needy in spite of it. Oh, and he wasn't even close to done growing yet. There were still three months to go. Christ, it almost made England hard on the spot thinking of how big he would get. He focused instead on the current America and the way he was mewling and writhing on the ground, completely bare before him.

"Careful not to undo this lovely bed you've made."

"Quit teasing me." America said, frowning and whacking him lightly on the shoulder. He shivered, reminding England that he had yet to remove a stitch of his own clothing.

England stood and began to tear at whatever he could reach.

"Hey, come on! Give me a show, baby."

"A- a what?" England asked, willing to let the pet name slide for the moment.

"Like I said, show me what you've got!"

"W-where did you get this ridiculous idea? You haven't been talking to France behind my back again, have you?"

America shook his head and smiled, "Nah, I came up on this one all by myself. I wanna see you take off your clothes for me. Nice and slow."

Slightly confused, England began to carefully undo his buttons one by one. America lay back with a satisfied smile on his face. Well, as long as he was enjoying this… England continued like that, in spite of how cold he was getting. Well, America always used to tease his nipples until they were hard, maybe this would turn him on more.

The thought drew England's eyes to America's chest. His nipples had gotten so big and dark recently, almost brown in color and the flesh beneath them had grown stiff. He wondered if America was making milk yet. He wondered if when he closed his mouth around one of those beautiful brown spots and sucked he'd be rewarded with a little something more than America's groans.

He shook his head slightly. Why was he thinking about this? It was wrong! For God's sake, that was what his baby would eat once it was born! But, oh, there was something so oddly arousing about the idea: America stroking his hair as he sucked ever so gently. He looked back down at his partner and found him staring at England's groin, which, to his shame, had begun to react to his imagination. He was glad America didn't know what he was thinking about.

The good news was that he found a much less disgusting reason to be aroused. America was stroking his cock now, slowly working it up to full attention. His face was flushed and he was biting his lip, desperate not to make a single noise. England could barely take it.

Thankfully, he didn't have much further to go. He peeled his hose off and then tore his shift away. After that, he was back on America, kneeling over him and devouring his mouth with his tongue and teeth. England felt more than heard the deep groan America let out as he threw his arms around England's neck to pull him closer.

"Do you have any slick?" England asked when he pulled away for air.

America bit his already red swollen lip, "No. Do you?"

England shook his head, "But there is more than one way to skin a cat, as it were. He turned around and backed up until his cock dangled over America's mouth. America gasped as he realized what England meant.

"You mean that we're going to-?"

"Yes."

"People _do _that?"

"Yes. You might want to take a minute, though. I'll start and you can try to follow me, alright?"

"Alright." America said as he wiggled excitedly.

England took a deep breath and soothed America's hips down as well as he could with the child in the way. He was rather out of practice, and the way he would have to reach down over his belly didn't make things easier. Still, somehow he managed to bring his lips to America's erection. He gave the head a light kiss before flicking it with his tongue. America stiffened and gasped beneath him. England got a more secure grasp on his thighs, so that when he ran his tongue along the vein on the underside he could savor the way those strong thigh muscles tensed and shook with pleasure.

He felt a light touch on his own cock and knew America was starting to reciprocate. Well, enough games, then. He took a deep breath and took as much of America's cock into his mouth as he could. America screamed against his cock, the vibrations shaking England to his very core. He ignored them as best he could and began to suck in earnest, bringing one hand up to pump what he couldn't fit. At least it wasn't hard for him to keep his mouth nice and wet. America was long and thick and hot and he tasted magnificent, just the right level of musk to be arousing but not heavy enough to disgust him. There was also something else to it, a little bit of feminine sweetness that most likely came about because of his pregnancy. He moaned happily. That earthy salty taste was absolutely fantastic. England began to work his tongue all over America's length, hoping to get more of that taste, more of that feeling.

Suddenly, America's head came up like a snake's and he swallowed England's cock. He took too much at once and choked a bit, but _God _did it feel fantastic. Still England had the decency to pull away to ask if he was alright. The fact that America was back on his cock before he bothered to answer was good enough for England. America wouldn't stop moaning around England's cock either. It was so good that England couldn't help but groan in reply, which only made things worse.

Oh, it wouldn't be long now. He cupped America's balls and began to bob his head up and down, hoping to not seem terribly unpracticed. However, America caught on quickly and copied him.

_Shit, _for someone who hadn't even known about oral sex twenty minutes ago, America was awfully good at it. Oh, England would have to teach him so many more things to do with that mouth. But maybe this was enough. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He wanted to bury his nose in America's pubic hair, but he couldn't fit that much into his mouth. What he could get would have to sustain him. It was good that America smelled every bit as fantastic as he tasted.

England worked his tongue up and down America's cock, desperate not to be the first to come. Thankfully, America obliged him, shooting his load into England's mouth right on time. England swallowed and placed his head on America's thigh so that he could finally sink his nose into that coarse hair.

He was so drawn in by the scent that he forgot to tell America that he was coming. He felt himself spill out. He swore his orgasm was just going to keep going and going until he was nothing but an empty bag of skin. He certainly felt like it as he rolled off of America to catch his breath. He was limp and lazy and perfectly sated.

After his muscles began to realize they were still fully functional, he turned and crawled back up to America's level before collapsing beside him.

"Hey England?"

"Yes?" England asked, opening one eye. He saw white all over America's face and sat bolt-upright. "My God, I'm so sorry!"

"What?"

"I-I'll get a rag to clean that up."

"Don't go." America said softly, "I like it when you stay here after we ma- after we do it."

"America, I came all over your face. I should have-"

"It's fine. I actually like it." He ran a finger along his cheek, picking up some of England's seed, "It means I'm yours, right?"

"Yeah. It does. But it's degrading and-"

"-And who else is gonna see it but you. I don't feel degraded. But if you don't like it," He smiled lewdly, "You can always lick it off."

England sighed, "Alright, come here."

He began to do as America instructed. He had never been too fond of the taste of seed, especially his own, but he would do it for America.

Once he was satisfied that his partner was clean enough, England pulled away and lay his head back down.

"H-hey England? I never got to say what I wanted to say."

"Oh, I'm sorry, what is it?" He opened his eyes and looked at America.

America took a deep breath, "England, I love you. I mean it. If there was only one nation I could spend time with for the rest of my life, it would be you."

England was taken aback. He had never expected _America _of all people to come out and say something so powerful so plainly. All he could do was smile and say "I love you too."

He leaned forward to close the gap between them and splayed his fingers across America's belly. Right then and there, on the floor if the sitting room, he made a vow to himself that he would never, ever let himself lose America.


	10. March

**March**

The snow melting was the best thing that had happened in months. The first day America saw grass, he ran out to the stables before breakfast. England had made him promise to be careful, since it was difficult to ride a horse when one was roughly the size of a cow. (He had really said that it could be dangerous if America fell, but why else would he fall? It had never happened to him before.) Of course, he broke that promise as quickly as possible. The moment he was sure that he was hidden by the trees, he gave Carrot a sharp jab to her flanks and they rode off at breakneck speed.

America threw his head back and breathed in the fresh air. It tasted so sweet after the way he'd been cooped up for so damn long. The wind ran through his hair with even more affection than England's fingers and almost lovingly caressed his face. He felt the steady beat of his land coursing through him, as steady and personal as his breathing and heartbeat. Carrot took powerful strides beneath him and her warm steady presence resonated all through his body.

It was almost odd how spiritual the experience was. America closed his eyes and let go of Carrot's reins. Instead, he placed his hands on her neck. Even though she wasn't human, she was still part of him. Americans were Americans, and they were all his babies. What did number of legs matter? He steered her through their connection, gently pushing her simple mind to take them one way or another. It was rare that he used his abilities so fully, but it was a day for it. He was free and wild and hadn't felt so much like himself in years.

He allowed the feeling to expand further. No longer was it just Carrot's head, but down her spine, through her nerves, into her hooves, and then into the ground she steadily beat against. Suddenly, he was everywhere at once. Suddenly, he knew everything that was happening from Georgia to the farthest reaches of Massachusetts where the northern bits rubbed against Canada's land. In fact, he could feel his brother's softer presence like he was snuggling against him. Spain was to his south, bright and warm and energetic. But more important than all of that was the information that he suddenly could see, things he had known all along but hadn't bothered to look for. In New York a man named Peter Miller was bargaining for eggs because he was saving to buy his wife an anniversary present. In Charleston, Sally Hopkins was thinking about giving her virginity to Charlie White, who himself had already planned his proposal to her but at the moment was still asleep and dreaming about the dog he'd had as a boy. Somewhere in an unnamed part of the west a mouse that was about to starve to death found a farmer's grain storage. The child he was carrying loved him.

That thought shocked him more than what he'd seen throughout his land. He slowed Carrot to a halt and pulled his awareness closer to block out everything else. He'd never been inside of an unborn baby's mind so closely before. It wasn't completely simple like an animal's, but it wasn't complex like an adult's or even a child's. It felt sort of hazy, like it was trying to be sentient but wasn't quite there yet. There were no words in her mind or even pictures, just sensations and flashes of light and dark, but in spite of that there were things that she just somehow knew.

Her World was small and she understood that. She knew that her World was inside of another person and there was a bigger place outside of that. She didn't know who America was, but she knew he was the only thing that mattered. He gave her food through the cord coming from her belly, he gave her air even though she couldn't breathe, whenever he was happy she would be too, and he and the Other One (England, presumably) were the only ones that paid attention to her. She listened to their voices, felt them pressing gently against her World's edge. She didn't know what seeing quite was, but she wanted to actually see them, not just the blurry silhouettes of a hand or a head.

America wrapped his arms around his belly and hugged it as tightly as he could. He reached out and touched her consciousness as he had with Carrot's. However, this time instead of sending orders he sort of nuzzled her with it. He gave her warmth and let her know mommy and daddy loved her too.

She was scared and confused at first, kicking wildly in the hopes that somehow it would make things go back to normal. She recognized his presence, but she didn't know how.

America soothed her gently, both with his mind and with his hands. "Hush, Aidie," He said softly, "It's just me. Don't be scared."

She settled after a few moments, finally understanding that the person who had her World was showing her love in a new way. She embraced him after that, trying to show him things that America already knew.

Maybe he should do this sort of thing more often, he realized. After all, his daughter had a very interesting point of view. He dismounted and sat down on a fallen log, lazily rubbing his stomach. Adrianna wasn't exactly giving him intelligent conversation, but the ability to talk to his child like that was good enough.

He looked out and realized with a start Carrot had taken him out to the cliff. The last time he'd been there was back in September. God, he was so scared, so damn angry at the world back then. It was much less pretty now, with all the trees looking dead and not a single sign of life except for a few forlorn-looking crows flying a few miles off, but he was so much happier. It didn't matter that his land was still drowsy with winter that had not quite thawed, he felt more alive than he had in months. He started laughing and pulled back into himself.

"I win, symbolism." He said, standing back up.

"Win what?"

America almost jumped out of his shoes. He had been so focused on himself and his baby that he hadn't noticed Lucy coming up behind him, walking her father's horse. He grinned when he saw her and ran over to give her a big hug.

"What are you doing here?" He asked when he pulled away.

"I wanted to see you, and since most of the snow is gone I thought there'd be a good chance you'd be here."

"I'm glad you were right," America said with a laugh, "How have you been?"

"Good," She said. Her smile fell, "But.. my father is pushing for me to get married again, though. My mother and sisters can handle the housework on their own and I think he doesn't like the extra expense of having me around. That's why I wanted to see you. I needed a bit of comfort."

America scowled, "I hate that. You're not some cow that needs to be sold off. You're a great girl, Lucy."

She smiled weakly, "Thanks. It doesn't change anything, though. I think he's going to arrange something soon, though. He's been talking to the Jeffersons. One of their sons is of marrying age now and-" She took a deep breath, "It's a good path, but it's not _mine, _Alfred."

America thought for a moment. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a happy ending, there just had to be. Suddenly, he got an idea.

"Why don't you come work for us?"

"What?"

"It'll be great." He took her hands in his, "You can work as my and England's maid! Then your dad can't complain about you being useless, even though you weren't to begin with, and we'll get to spend some time together."

"Are you sure that's alright?"

"Yeah! If nothing else, a lot of people think we're a couple. If your dad thinks I'm courting you he'll get off of your back!"

She smiled, "That's great!"

"Now all we have to do is get England to approve it. I'm sure he will when I put on the puppy dog face and play the pregnant card."

She laughed, "Is the leader of an empire really that easy to convince?"

"Only for me. Now come on, let's go talk to him."

* * *

><p>"No. No, Absolutely not!" England didn't know what America was playing at. He had just come back into their parlor and demanded that they hired some girl to be a maid. They didn't need a housekeeper, not when she could reveal their secret. If that happened then everything would be ruined.<p>

"Come on! You were just saying yourself that all of this work is getting to you. Wouldn't you like some help?"

"What I want is irrelevant!" England snapped. He took another sip of his tea to calm himself. "You know how dangerous it is to let humans know what we are."

"What about Lucy? She already knows I'm not human."

_That _girl?Why did he have to pick _her_? Wasn't England good enough? No, no he could worry about that later. He just had to convince America not to hire her. "That girl is so religious, she'll think you're an abomination."

"Lucy's not like that. She knows that we're different. She didn't freak out when I told her my life story to prove what I am. She didn't freak out when I showed her how I can control animals. She won't freak out about this!"

England pursed his lips. He wasn't about to give up the fight that easily. "You said she's going to be a nun, right? They'll find out when she goes there."

"And how would they do that? If they ask her what she did before she's not gonna say 'well, I worked for a pregnant man for a while. But it's all cool because he's the spirit of America and the daddy is the spirit of England.' She's not stupid, England."

"Women talk, America," England said, setting down his teacup.

"She won't!"

"It's nothing to do with personality. It's about their work. When you're sitting and doing something with your hands that doesn't take much brain power you chat. I'm a man and I do the same while I'm sewing."

"England, please, do it for me." He was begging now, his lower lip out and his brow scrunched up like he was about to burst into tears. "We're going to need a lot of help once the baby comes and-"

England let out an exasperated sigh. "America, I'm just trying to do what's best for you."

"England, this _is _what's best for me."

"I said no, and that's my final answer." He said, using his most serious and parental tone, "Nothing you can say or do will convince me otherwise."

"Well then, may I say something?" England's eyes widened with shock. Dammit, that girl had been there the entire time, hadn't she?

England turned and stared her down. He knew how to look impressive. He was an Empire for god's sake. She didn't waiver, but he wasn't ready to give in. He pulled up as much venom as possible and demanded, "What do you think you're doing, coming into my house uninvited?"

"I _was_ invited. Alfred told me to come in to find out if I was to get my things or not. And it's a good thing I did."

"Good for you, maybe."

"Why don't we make a deal?" She asked, ignoring his comment, "If you let me work for you I'll tell no one of this for as long as I live. If you don't, I won't. I'll make sure everyone knows."

"No one will believe you. They'll lock you away and say you're mad."

"So what's the worry then? Either way you and Alfred will be safe."

England cursed internally. He had to remember never to argue when he was angry. "America was right about one thing, at least," He said, walking up to her, "You're not stupid. Go home and pack your things. I'll be at your house by nightfall to get you. You can have the room that used to be America's so that you can take care of the baby once it comes. Tomorrow you can discuss payment with America."

Her face broke out into a smile and embraced him, "Thank you so much, Mister Kirkland, sir!"

England scowled and pushed her away, "I-it's just that you're safer if I can keep an eye on you. Now get out."

"Of course. Thank you so much!" She left the parlor at a run.

When she had shut the front door behind her, England sunk back into his armchair with a sigh. What had he done?

"Are you happy now?" America demanded.

"Why would I be?" England snapped back.

"Well, you made it pretty clear to my best friend that you're an asshole!" he glared at England, "I've been trying to convince her that you're not, but now you just look like a petty jackass!"

"I am not petty! Like I said, I'm just worried about-"

"Bullshit!" America slammed his hands down on the table, giving it a significant dent and sending England's teacup flying, "You don't think I can do anything without you holding my hand! Dammit, England, if I'm old enough to have a baby I'm old enough to think for myself!"

England stood back up, "Physical age has nothing to do with mental maturity!"

"-And you know what I think?" America asked, plowing on as though England hadn't said a word, "I think you're jealous. You're afraid that I'm gonna start sleeping with her instead of you if she lives here. Well, you know what? You're wrong. You're the only one I've ever loved and now you're ruining that too!"

He turned on his heel and stormed upstairs. A few moments later, England heard the bedroom door slam. He sat down again and looked at the shattered cup on the floor. He really should clean up the pieces and then do what he could to keep the tea from staining the rug. He just couldn't find the motivation.

He was glad that he didn't have a housekeeper at the moment so that no one was there to see him cry.


	11. April

**April **

America tried to get enough sleep. Really, he did. He'd go to bed early and not rush himself awake in the morning, but he just couldn't get to sleep or stay there for very long. It felt like he couldn't get comfortable. The baby didn't help. Most of the time she'd try to be still, but she would always wiggle around just a little bit like she was as unusually uncomfortable as he was.

Even when England came to bed it made no difference because he simply perched on the far side of the mattress. Sometimes America felt like it was just like their stupid geography, with miles and miles keeping them apart. Of course, it was no better when they were awake. They barely talked anymore and even if there was something to say, America never had the chance because England had started to close himself in his study more and more often. He claimed that the king had ordered him to do more work in the response to the announcement of the baby had finally arrived, but America was sure he was just avoiding him.

One night he decided he couldn't stand the silence anymore. He lay still for a good while, staring out the window with one hand curled protectively around his belly. Aidie was trying to kick her way out, but he paid her no mind. He didn't move when England first came in, or when he took off his clothes and set them neatly on the chair. He waited until England finally slid between the sheets and took his now-default position at the farthest reaches of the bed. Even then America didn't turn or gesture or anything. He just opened his mouth.

"Hey England?"

He heard England stiffen beside him, as though he hadn't known America was awake. However, he quickly settled himself. The sheets rustled and the mattress moved as England turned to look at him. "What is it?"

America still didn't turn to look at him. It was dark anyway. Besides, he didn't know if he could take it. "Are we- are we gonna be okay?"

"I don't suppose you mean physically, do you?"

"No."

England sighed, "I don't know, America, I really don't know."

America clenched his jaw.

"I want us to be, though." England set a hand on America's shoulder and he both wanted to shake it off and hold it closer, "I want this to work."

"I do too."

There were a million things America should have said. "I'm sorry I didn't really let you get to know Lucy before I got her to work here." "I wish that you could just treat me like an adult." "Please trust me more often." "For God's sake, talk to me again!" But instead he just said, "I love you, England, I really do."

"I love you too." England finally came closer and pressed his warm, solid body against America's back, "I know this won't be easy. Neither of us are used to sharing. But maybe this'll be good for us. All of this."

America took England's hand in his and gave a dry laugh, "How could this past month have possibly been good?"

"We had to fight eventually. We're both so bloody stubborn that it's bound to have happened some day. But since it happened now, before the baby came, I had time to think until I realized that. And since I promised to stay until the child is grown, I did't piss off back home and then be too proud to turn around and come right back."

"But what about after Aidie grows up?" America curled around himself as best he could, "I can't keep pushing out babies forever."

"I wouldn't expect you to," England replied softly, "I hope we'll have learned how to be together by then. I'll have to go home, but maybe the next time one of us has to carry we can do this again. After all, every year it seems they're coming up with ways to cross the Atlantic faster and faster. During that time I'll write."

"I'm afraid we'll drift apart."

"I am too. But, God, America," England wrapped his arms around America's chest and held him close, "You have no idea. Before I found you I was scared and alone and constantly being harassed. That last bit still happens, but you gave me hope and happiness and something to fight for other than myself. And now we're going to have a family, a proper one, not like mine where my mother disappeared and then my siblings turned on me and tried to kill me. And I think that with you I can do that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I- I don't want to lose you."

He buried his face in America's shift. America wanted to say something, but couldn't. He couldn't even think of something to say. It was like there was a block in his brain or his throat or both. He heard England's breath catch several times. God, he was crying, wasn't he?

Now it was time to move, America rolled over and hugged him back, "I'm here," He said, "And I will _always _be here."

England pulled away and smiled sadly, "Don't be daft, love, all things end eventually."

America leaned forward and kissed away England's tears, "Well, I'm gonna live forever or die trying." That actually got a laugh out of him, "England, I haven't been alive very long by your standards, but even I know that things do change, and they usually change in ways no one sees coming. So there's no point in worrying. Just enjoy the here and now. I'm here. Our baby's here. The bed is warm and comfortable. We're gonna be okay."

"I thought you were the one who was unsure of that."

"I was," He laughed, "But now I'm not."

Just like he thought the bed was uncomfortable but now it wasn't, not with England so close to him. So that's all he was really missing.

"Goodnight, America."

"Goodnight, England.

And curled around him like that, America had his best night's sleep in months.


	12. May

**May 1954**

England stared at the door in front of him. He swallowed and looked down at the paper clutched in his hand, making sure for the millionth time that he had the right apartment. At that point he was just stalling for time. America grown so much and England had fallen so hard, being around his presence was like looking into the sun and it was blaring just inside.

He had more right to be here than the other two times he'd come. He and America were friends now, at least. "A special relationship" His boss had said. But for some reason he was never so nervous: not when he had stumbled over drunk and heartbroken in 1788, and not a century later when he'd come with the pretext of trade. He was fully entitled to come for a visit, and it wasn't unusual for that to include a shag. But he just felt so weak now, like America could break him in half with a finger. Finally rationing had ended, but he still felt like a shell of his formal self. Why had it come now?

He screwed up his courage. Even if he was half dead, he'd had the world at his command not too long ago and above all else he was a British gentleman and had to stand firm. He knocked three times on the door. It sounded a lot more sure than his shaking hands should have allowed. (He told himself that the trembling was from that hunger that hadn't stopped gnawing at his bones since the war. That was why it had gone on since the Blitz.)

"Hey!" America said opening the door, "I was wondering when you'd finally knock."

England ignored the barb and turned slightly away as though being there was an annoying chore, "Hullo. My boss asked me to come visit, improve relations and all that."

"Sure he did. I think he'd tell you to move in if the queen would let him."

America let out a laugh, but something seemed wrong. He was still standing in the doorway, like there was something he didn't want England to see. Well, that was all the more reason to talk himself inside.

"Mind if I come in? It's raining out so it'd be nice to warm up a bit."

"Sure," America said, finally stepping back, "That's fine."

His tone was slightly forced, making it clear that it _wasn't _fine, but England deserved a turn pretending to be oblivious. He smiled and entered. There was nothing unusual in his apartment that England noticed. There were pictures of America with various people on the walls. His furniture was simple and cheaply made, but he had a television and a few comfortable-looking chairs around it.

"I don't have any tea or nothin, but I can make you some coffee," America said stiffly.

"That would be nice." England said. Any excuse to stay was a good one. He didn't know how long it would take him to talk his way into America's bed, but he wanted to do it before America got suspicious.

He sat at the table and allowed America to bustle around the kitchenette. He looked around the house, trying to remember the layout so that he was less likely to bump into something while he was kissing America towards the bed. Or couch. It didn't really matter where as long as it happened soon.

"Do you want some milk?" America asked, leaning from around the open refrigerator door. "I don't have any cream."

"And some sugar too, please." England replied, turning to look at him.

It was at that point that England saw that he had some crude crayon drawings taped to the door. Wow, so all of those rumors about his art were true. England was about to make a snide comment about that when he noticed a lot of them were of him and the same little girl. Now that was odd. He knew America loved children, but why would he keep the same subject? He actually opened his mouth to ask when he got his answer.

"Daddy?" A little voice called from the hallway, "I thought you were gonna come read me a bedtime story."

America's eyes widened and he turned around. England peeked around him to look at the girl. She was a little blonde thing, probably only about six years old. She held a little white teddy bear and was wearing a pale blue nightdress. But the thing that struck him about her the most were her eyes, her huge brilliantly green eyes. His eyes.

He couldn't help but stare at her. He began to notice other little pieces, her nose, her chin. God, why hadn't America _told _him?

"_You weren't going to tell America about yours. You _haven't _told America about yours." _

"Don't worry, Lizzie, I will." America walked over and lifted her into his arms, "I was about to when one of my friends came to the door."

The girl, Lizzie- He had named her _Elizabeth! _– Looked at England over America's shoulder, "Who is he? I don't think I've seen him before."

England's heart lurched. She hadn't. He hadn't been there. He'd fathered plenty of children without looking back. He was a fucking nation! That's what they did. Portugal never knew about Audrey. France never knew about Mary. That sailor never knew about Jonathan. Hell, America never knew about Martha and Allan. So why- why did he feel so bad about this Lizzie?

"We're old friends. His name is Arthur."

She waved, "Hi Arthur!"

"Hello," he said, more out of habit than anything since his brain had short-circuited.

"Yep, but now you have to go to sleep."

"But he just got here!"

"I know, Liz," He kissed her forehead, "But it's past your bedtime. Besides, it's been years since I've seen Artie, so we have a lot to catch up on."

He walked away with his daughter in his arms. England, for his part, just stared down at his coffee. He couldn't think, he just stared, watching the steam rise into the air.

America returned about ten minutes later and sat down on the other side of the table. His face was more serious than England had seen it since he found out about Hiroshima.

"I'm guessing from the look on your face you know now, huh?" He asked.

England nodded, "And she doesn't. She doesn't even know who you really are."

"No. She's too young. I'll explain it to her later when she's old enough not to tell anyone."

"Will you tell her about me?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He took a long drink from his own coffee, "But I don't think you're here just to chat. If it was to build relations you would have called."

England smiled, "I'm actually quite glad you're not as stupid as everyone likes to think."

America smiled back, "Well, it's easier if people think you can't tell your ass from an ice pick, so I'm glad I pull it off."

"Quite well."

"Now enough with the small talk." He set his cup down, "Liz is an early riser and I have to make her breakfast before school tomorrow."

England sighed and placed his elbows on the table. "Well, since I've seen your daughter now I'll be forward with you. It's my turn, I suppose. I'm in heat."

"And you came all the way over here?"

"Yes."

"Why? It seems like an awfully long way to go when you're surrounded by a million other guys on your own continent."

England wanted to reply, wanted to come up with some logical reason why he would choose America to father his children, to father _all _of his children since that day, but he couldn't. So instead he just asked, "Well, why did you pick me for Liz?"

America blushed for a moment but shook it off, "It was the baby boom. You were around."

"Then why did you name her Elizabeth?"

"You didn't invent the name, you know."

"I do." He stared hard at America. He hoped he was right. He hoped to God that America still- that he still-

America sighed. "Come with me."

He led England down the hall and into what England assumed was his bedroom. He had older pictures here. The ones outside were all from the end of World War II on. Here there were pictures from the turn of the century, the late 1800s, the civil war, the dawn of photography when everything was slightly blurry, and even small paintings from earlier. They were all mixed together, probably based more upon preference than date.

America led him over to his desk and gestured to the pictures. The first one, furthest to the left, was the three of them back before the revolution: England on the left, America on the right, and a fully grown Adrian between them.

"You still have this?" He asked, tracing the frame.

"Yeah. You let me keep it when you went back home, and that's all I have to remember him now." He looked sad. Well, the first was always the hardest.

So England smiled and said, "Yes, that and the fact that I will never let it go that you were absolutely sure he was a girl. I had to show you before you would believe me."

America laughed, "Well, you know, young and stupid."

"Are the rest yours too?" England asked, eyeing the other three frames.

"Yeah. This one's Lucy," He gestured to the next one, a slim beautiful woman with long curly blond hair and fairly thick eyebrows. "And that's Eddie," He said. This one was a photograph of a boisterous looking man with England's eyes and smile. "And, obviously, that's Liz from her birthday last year." America finished, pointing to the picture on the furthest right. "I have more, but that's how I like to remember my kids, you know?"

"I do." He looked at the four people in front of him, "Are any of them-"

"Eddie's still alive. He and his wife would go out exploring when they were younger. I'm still amazed that didn't kill 'em. Eventually when they got too old they settled down. They live in Wyoming now. Huge plot of land, big happy slobbery dog, they say they're gonna give it to me when they finally go."

England laughed, "He sounds like your son."

"He's definitely yours too. He likes to pretend things don't matter to him, but when he decides he likes something he never lets it go. So then," He turned back to England, "Why did you let me go?"

"I tried not to," England said, "You know that. I fought tooth and nail over it. You remember."

"I don't mean that. That- it had to happen." He looked seriously at England, "You never would have stopped seeing me as a kid if it wasn't for that."

"No, no I wouldn't have." He admitted, setting his hand on America's, "We've agreed on that much."

"But you didn't come back. After that was over you didn't want anything to do with me."

They were both silent for a few moments and then England finally said, "No, America. I did." He pulled out his wallet and took out two photographs. "Their names are Martha and Allan. Martha's is a photo of a painting so it's a little out of focus, but Allan's was taken in 1900."

"My God," America said after studying the pictures for a few moments, "You too?"

"Yes." England put his wallet away. "After you, after Adrian, there was no one else. I didn't want anyone else. Just you."

America doubled over with laughter. He leaned on the desk and took off his glasses. There were a few tears coming out. He was laughing so hard he was crying. England stood there awkwardly, unsure of what America was thinking to make him laugh like that. Eventually he straightened up. There was still a stray giggle or two and he was smiling from ear to ear, but he could stand and open his eyes again.

"What was that about?" England demanded.

"My God, we're both such _idiots!" _America laughed again and wrapped his arms around England.

England was about to say something, but it was driven out of his head when America leaned forward and kissed him long and hard. His eyelids fluttered closed. Fuck, America hadn't kissed him in almost two hundred years.

He felt lightheaded when they pulled away, "All this time," He whispered, "All this time we could have been together."

"Hush, don't worry about that." America stroked his hair and set his chin on England's shoulder, "What matters is we're here now. We can make up for that lost time. I mean, we've got forever."

"We do." England agreed, "I have a suitcase in my car. Should I go get it and come back?"

"Yeah. Sleep here tonight, okay?"

England rushed down and back up with his suitcase. By the time he returned, America was laying in bed, already wearing pajamas. When he saw England enter, he smiled.

"Go ahead and change and then come to bed. That stuff needs to dry and we have a long day tomorrow if we want to introduce Lizzie to her Daddy."

England pulled off his clothes, keeping an eye on America to see if sex was on the docket. When he hesitated to pull out his own pajamas, America laughed and said, "Hey, it's been a while so you have to take me to dinner first. Besides, Lizzie has to meet her dad before she gets a little brother or sister."

England smiled back and redressed himself before sliding into bed beside America. They kissed again, slowly and tenderly this time. England allowed himself to pillow his head on America's chest as America wrapped his arms and legs around him like a vine on a chain link fence. They fell asleep like that, truly together for the first time in more years than either cared to count.

_The End  
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><p><strong>An: **I figured you all could use some more feels after the Hetalia season 5 news. Thank you to everyone who's come all this way with me. I hope you enjoyed the story :D Yes, this is the real end. No other epilogue (and probably no sequel). Just a bittersweet new beginning for our couple. Now onto the next project!


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